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WILL SHAKSPEARE 

A COMEDY 



A Pleafaunt Comedie 

of the Life of 

Will Shakfpeare 

Player 
of the Globe Theatre on the Bankfide 

Wherein may be found fundrie variable and diverting 

humours, together with a fetting fourthe of the many 

follies of Stage Players in generall, and also 

certaine fongs fette to airs newly 

invented 

As it hath not beene divers times enacted by the 

Righte Honourable the Lord Chamberlayne his Servants, 

nor yet by any others, 

to the prefent regret of the Author, 

Harry B. Smith 



% 



Imprinted in Chicago at the Presse of The Dial journal 
and to be foulde at fundrie f hoppes 

MDCCCXCIII 






Copyright, 1893, 
By Harry B. Smith. 



(All Eights Reserved.) 



^M 3 ti 



The number of copies of this book is 
One Hundred. 



10 



Co tfje TOorsfjipM jJEaster lEofoatD J. iJEcPfjelmt 

A PATRON OF PLAYES AND PLAYERS 

who hath done precious service to the Theatre 

by the Sound Judgmente and 

Sprightlie Witte of his Divers Writings 

Efjts Comrtite is Betiicatrtr 

BY HIS TRUE FRIEND THE AUTHOR 

who heartilie wisheth that the within matter 
were better writ 



Chicago, 10th November, 1893. 



j&jjakspeare. 

soul of mine, thou farest in strange ways 
On thy mind-journey; meadows sunlit bright 
Thou traversest where variant flow' rs delight 

And lure aside; in grey mysterious haze 

Thou wand'rest phantom-led thro* many a maze; 
Thou bravest rivers rolling with swift might, 
Lingerest on little hills of graceful height; 

In stately woods thou dreamest happy days : 

Until a lonely mountain-top is won, 

Font of the streams and mother of the vales, 

Whose verdant slope all Elfland plays upon, 

On whose fair brow Truth's star faints not nor pales, 

Whence in the noontide eagles seek the sun, 
Where in the moonlight sob the nightingales. 



i 

PROEM. 



OF THE DEER OF SIR THOMAS. 



1 Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? ' 

—As You Like It, Act II, Scene I. 

The early biographers of Shakspeare fully believed that 
he killed a deer belonging to Sir Thomas Lucy, was 
prosecuted for this, and revenged himself, first by writ- 
ing a scurrilous ballad and afterward by disguising Sir 
Thomas as Justice Shallow. Fuller, Aubrey, Capell, 
Oldys, Steevens, Rowe, and Isaac Reed credited on these 
points the only evidence possible, that of Stratford re- 
port. Most of these authorities maintain that Shak- 
speare left Stratford in consequence of a prosecution for 
libel resulting from this poetical retaliation. The ear- 
liest record of this affair states that the youth was 
« much given to all unluckinesse in stealing venison and 
rabbits, particularly from Sir Thomas Lucy, who had 
him oft whipped and sometimes imprisoned, and at last 
made him fly his native country; but his revenge was 
so great that he is his Justice Clodpate ' (Justice Shal- 
low). The most careful and comprehensive biography 
of Shakspeare is that of Dr. Nathan Drake.* Drake 
examines all previous authorities, and concludes that the 
deer-poaching is one of the best verified incidents of the 

* ' Shakspeare and His Times,' by Nathan Drake, M.D. Two volumes, 
quarto. T. Cadell, London, 1817. 



poet's life. Mr. J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps, whose life- 
work was the collection of material for a biography of 
Shakspeare, says of this charge: 'That it has a solid 
basis of fact cannot admit of a reasonable doubt/ Dr. 
Johnson, S. W. Fullom, Richard Grant White, and Dr. 
Hermann Ulrici are among the biographers who credit 
the story. Nevertheless, in spite of this mass of testi- 
mony, a belief has recently become current that the 
charge of poaching is a wanton libel upon a great man. 
As nearly as I have been able to ascertain, this theory 
was originated by Malone, who bequeathed it to De 
Quincey without a particle of testimony. The latter 
writer states that 'Sir Thomas had no deer and no 
park/ and he atones for his complete lack of evidence 
by the vigor of his assertion that the charge of poach- 
ing is an outrageous calumny. To combat this bare 
declaration, it can be demonstrated by documentary 
proof that Sir Thomas Lucy owned Fulbrooke Park, 
wherein deer were plentiful. That Sir Thomas prized 
his deer highly is shown by his recorded present of a 
fat buck to the Queen. De Quincey attempts to prove 
that deer-stealing was 'a venial offense* at the time, 
and that, therefore, Shakspeare could not have been pun- 
ished with enough severity to provoke the vengeance of 
a lampoon. So far was deer-stealing from being * a 
venial offense* that, up to a few years before Shak- 
speare was guilty of it, it was actually a capital crime. 
A statute in the fifth year of Elizabeth's reign reduced 
the penalty to imprisonment and whipping; but offend- 
ers could also be brought before the Star Chamber 

x. 



prcem 

for more rigorous punishment. Not long after Shak- 
speare's adventure, Lord Berkeley instituted proceedings 
in the Star Chamber against twenty deer-stealers; and 
such cases were by no means infrequent. It appears 
that De Quincey is as much in error in regarding deer- 
stealing as a trifle as he is in pronouncing the story re- 
garding Shakspeare a calumny. 

Mr. James Walters, who has published a volume 
which he calls ' Shakspeare's True Life,' adopts De Quin- 
cey's opinion, admitting that only recently has there 
been a disposition to take this view of the matter. Mr. 
Walters rejects the tradition as ' inconsistent with the 
poet's quiet, orderly habits ' ; this is his only argument. 
In reply it may be said that in neither tradition nor the 
early biographies is there the least authority for belief 
that Shakspeare in his youth was a person of « quiet, 
orderly habits.* If evidence of this sort is to prevail, 
it will be easy, after a century, to prove that the author 
of « Adonais ' could not have deserted his young wife and 
indirectly caused her suicide. We must take facts as 
we find them, and the world is none the better for a 
* white- washed ' Shakspeare. How much more inter- 
esting to the student of human nature is a man of genius, 
with all his faults of youth and high-spirits, than the 
excessively proper young person of De Quincey's fancy. 
Is not Lanfrey's « Bonaparte ' more human, more pow- 
erful, than the imaginary paragon of certain other biog- 
raphers ? 

The most conclusive evidence as to the truth of the 
deer- killing story is found in Shakspeare's own testi- 

xi. 



mony. In * The Merry Wives of Windsor ' he admits 
the identity of Justice Shallow and Sir Thomas Lucy 
by punning upon the name and the coat-of-arms of the 
latter, and by making the former bring a charge of 
poaching. This punning brings us to the doggerel bal- 
lad which Shakspeare is said to have written to annoy 
Sir Thomas. The stanzas run thus: 

* A parliaments member, a justice of peace, 
At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse. 
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, 
Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it : 
He thinks himself greate, 
Tet an asse in his state 
We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. 
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, 
Sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it.' 

Now it is certain that in the seventeenth century this 
ballad was sung in Stratford as a part of the deer-steal- 
ing narrative, and was attributed to Shakspeare by the 
immediate descendants of his neighbors. Who in Strat- 
ford would have gone to the trouble of inventing a silly 
forgery and imputing it to Shakspeare, especially at a 
time when the poet (according to Dryden) was « a lit- 
tle obsolete ' ? De Quincey thinks Shakspeare could not 
have written these verses because they are coarse; but 
then De Quincey should have denied the authenticity 
of the opening scene in « The Merry Wives of Windsor,' 
in which precisely the same low pun is made and turned 
over and over as if the author revelled in it. That the 
verses are vulgar to readers of the present day no one 
will dispute; but much coarser expressions may be 



Proem 

found in many of the plays whose identity as Shak- 
speare's has never been questioned. It must be remem- 
bered that the writer of this stanza was not the author 
of < Hamlet ' and * Lear,' but a rustic youth with little 
education and much spirit, smarting under the sense of 
injustice done him. It is an early product of that cor- 
ner of Shakspeare's brain wherein were conceived some 
of the speeches of Mistress Quickly, Doll Tearsheet, 
Falstaff, and Dr. Caius, as well as some of the scenes 
in « Pericles ' and < Titus Andronicus.' We need not this 
ballad to prove that Shakspeare could be coarse even 
after he had emerged from rude rusticity and had be- 
come a poet; yet he was undoubtedly more pure of 
mind than his contemporary dramatists. Richard Grant 
White, an idolater of the poet, says: 'This story en- 
riches with a rare touch of real life our faint and meagre 
memorials of Shakspeare.' 



SHAKSPEARE AS A HUSBAND. 

' Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself. . . . 



Then let thy love be younger than thyself, 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. ' 

— Twelfth Night. 

De Quincey, who scorns the deer-poaching story as 

inconsistent with Shakspeare's character, is somewhat 

self-contradictory when he believes all that has been 

said in regard to the poet's irregular marriage. It is 

probable that this advocate for a seraphic Shakspeare 

adii. 



Proem 

had not the hardihood to fly in the face of documentary 
evidence, albeit he might deny the reliability of tradi- 
tion. Other biographers, however, have striven to dis- 
guise their hero as a model husband. It is demonstrated 
by documents that William Shakspeare and Anne Hath- 
away were married by a special license, and with a 
waiving of the customary services, public asking, and 
proclamation of bans. This special license bears the 
date, November 28, 1582, and it is reasonable to sup- 
pose that the parties were married not later than the 
first week in December. When it is stated that the 
register of Stratford shows that Shakspeare's eldest 
child, Susannah, was baptized on the 26th of May in 
the following year, it is evident that there was a very 
urgent reason for the omission of ceremonies likely to 
delay the wedding. At the time of this marriage the 
poet was eighteen years of age. As it was the custom 
at Stratford for apprentices to be bound for either seven 
or ten years, it is probable that Will was not out of his 
articles. Anne Hathaway was twenty-six. Biographers 
generally assume that she was beautiful, no doubt sup- 
posing that a poet like Shakspeare could not love where 
there was not beauty. There is no authority for thus 
dowering Mistress Anne with loveliness. Early mar- 
riages were the rule, and girls of fifteen were commonly 
regarded as marriageable. Moreover, she was no pen- 
niless lass, but * the daughter of a substantial yeoman ' ; 
doubtless with a fair dowry. If the village beauty de- 
scribed by some biographers, why was she not wedded 
earlier ? A bride of twenty-six in Shakspeare's time 

xiv. 



Sproem 

would be on a par with one of tliirty-six in these days. 
However, it is a minor matter. Let us hope, for Shak- 
speare's sake, that she was beautiful; for it is tolerably 
certain that she was a shrew, and the poet should have 
had some aesthetic compensation for the beratings he 
must have endured. It is pretty well established that 
Shakspeare was unhappy in this marriage, which, as 
Richard Grant White says, was 'one of the saddest 
social events that can be contemplated.' In several 
passages in the plays, the poet urges the necessity of a 
man's being older than his wife; and in 'The Tempest,' 
after suggesting circumstances such as led to his own 
marriage, he describes the consequences of such an ir- 
regular alliance: 

'Barren hate, 
Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly 
That you shall hate it both.' 

De Quincey gives as a reason for Shakspeare's re- 
moval to London the dissension that followed this ill- 
omened marriage. It is likely that this was one cause, 
and that the persecution by Sir Thomas Lucy was an- 
other. It is probable that, if he did not love his wife, 
he did love some other woman. He was a poet by 
nature, then a poet in his teens; and love is the flower 
of youth and imagination. From the internal evidence 
of the sonnets it has been decided by nearly all critics 
and biographers that Shakspeare, later in life, did love 
a certain ' dark woman ' whose fidelity to him was none 
of the strictest. Whether this was an early passion 

xv. 



that had endured transplantation, or a blossom of Lon- 
don growth, can never be known; however, I do not 
think that anything in tradition, biography, or internal 
evidence is inconsistent with the invention of a Beatrice 
for this young bard, especially as their mutual affection 
is represented to be of a purely ideal character. It is 
true that Gerald Massey demonstrates to his own con- 
tent that the • dark woman ' was Lady Penelope Rich, 
and that the sonnets were written by Shakspeare to ex- 
press the passion of the Earl of Pembroke for that reck- 
less beauty; but it is not satisfactory to think of these 
gems as the result of second-hand inspiration of this sort. 

De Quincey represents the poet's life as one of in- 
cessant bickerings, till the maddened husband fled to 
London leaving his wife with three little children. This 
critic adds: *Says Parson Evans [alluding to Falstaff 
in masquerade], " I like not when a woman has a great 
peard; I spy a great peard under her muffler." Neither 
do we like the spectacle of a mature young woman, five 
years past her majority, wearing the semblance of hav- 
ing been led astray by a boy who had still two years 
and a half to run of his minority.' Phillipps, on the 
other hand, thinks that the couple must have led a life 
of uninterrupted happiness, merely because Mistress 
Shakspeare requested that she be buried beside her 
spouse. Fullom quotes the sonnets to show that Shak- 
speare was uxorious, as well as a doting father; and other 
biographers have endeavored to prove that so great a 
poet must have been a good husband. 

The fact is that English poets have not excelled as 
xvi. 



Proem 

domestic pets, nor have the great bards of other coun- 
tries succeeded in the role of Benedick. Shelley, Byron, 
Coleridge, Milton, and Landor found misery in matri- 
mony; while others, Keats and Pope for example, were 
bachelors. Let us look at Shakspeare's case. It is cer- 
tain that he left his wife with three babies three years 
after the marriage. There is not an atom of evidence 
to show that he habitually visited Stratford. Travel 
was no easy matter in those days, and he was constantly 
occupied as playwright, actor, and manager. As he was 
becoming a man of importance in London, it is likely 
that tradition would have preserved some record of any 
visit to his native town. There is absolutely no trace 
of any association between Shakspeare and his wife from 
the time of his departure for London to the time of his 
purchase of a Stratford home, * New Place,' in 1597, the 
year in which ■ Hamlet ' is generally acknowledged to 
have been first performed. Shakspeare's son, Hamnet, 
died a few months previous to this purchase. I have 
therefore taken advantage of the absence of known facts, 
and invented a story to the effect that the boy's death 
brought about a reconciliation between the poet and his 
wife. They were reconciled, at least sufficiently for them 
to live together at New Place and for him to leave her 
his ' second best bed.' Now, why his * second best bed,' 
if Master and Mistress Shakspeare were always so af- 
fectionate ? Someone has suggested that the best bed 
always descended to the eldest son or daughter; but 
still Dame Shakespeare seems to be slighted in the will. 
The retired actor and manager leaves substantial sums 

xvii. 



Proem 

of money, as well as other legacies, to his daughters, his 
sister, his niece, his nephews, a dozen friends, and the 
poor of Stratford. Then, last item of all (save a sup- 
plementary bequest to his daughter and his son-in-law) , 
we read: 'I give unto my wife my second best bed with 
the furniture. , Certainly the bulk of the evidence shows 
that Shakspeare had a poet's dissensions with his wife, 
and a poet's love for his children. 



OF MISTRESS DAVENANT, HER CHARMS. 

For the sake of unity of design, I have taken from 
worthy Master Davenant the lease of the Crown Inn, 
Oxford, and made him mine host of the Mermaid, of 
which noted tavern more will be said. John Davenant 
(supposed father of Sir William Davenant) was a grave 
and discreet citizen, blessed with a comely wife, de- 
scribed by Aubrey (1680) as 'very beautifull with a 
very good witt.' Shakspeare was a frequent visitor to 
the Crown Inn; and, to continue in Aubrey's words: — 
'Sir William Davenant would sometimes say that it 
seemed to him that he writ with the very spirit of 
Shakspeare, and was contented enough to be thought 
his son; and he would tell them (his friends) the story 
as above. Now, by the way, his mother had a very 
light report.' 

The « story as above ' is one that was in print as early 
as 1629. Its matter is that « a boy whose mother was 
noted to be not overloden with honesty, went to seeke 

xviii. 



his god-father, and enquiring for him, quoth one: 
"Who is thy god-father?" The boy replying, "Oh," 
said the man, " if he be thy god-father, he is at the next 
ale house ; but I f eare thou takest God's name in vain." ' 
Thus it will be seen that Sir William Davenant prided 
himself upon being the son of Shakspeare ; and it is not 
wholly improbable that Mistress Davenant was the 
' dark woman ' of the sonnets. While the story is re- 
lated by the older biographers, Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps 
rejects it as apocryphal. It will be observed that I 
have combined Sir Thomas Lucy's ward, Judith, with 
Mrs. Davenant, as one character ; but her relations with 
Shakspeare are represented as perfectly honorable. 

In regard to the farcical plot in the second act, it is 
right to say that it has a foundation in tradition. We 
are told that a fair dame was present at the theatre 
when Burbage played * Richard the Third/ and was so 
charmed with his performance that she made an engage- 
ment with him to visit her at her house, where an inti- 
mation that he was * Richard the Third 9 would procure 
him admittance. The tender message was overheard 
by Shakspeare, who, for a jest, determined to forestall 
his friend. As he was entertaining the lady — probably 
with one of his sonnets — a knock announced Burbage, 
who, challenged from within, gave the password: 'Tis 
I, Richard the Third/ to which Shakspeare replied: 
' But William the Conqueror came before Richard the 
Third,' and so gave him his dismissal. This story is 
found in a Sixteenth Century manuscript in the Harleian 
Collection. 

xix. 



Proem 

THE MERMAID TAVERN. 



There is authority for the belief that Sir Walter 
Raleigh was the originator and president of the Mer- 
maid Club, whose membership included Shakspeare, 
Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Carew, Donne, 
Cotton, and many others of eminence in the ornamental 
professions. It has been affirmed, that Sir Walter's 
presidency would have kept Shakspeare and his friends 
from becoming members, as they had been intimate with 
Essex and other opponents of Raleigh. Fuller has de- 
scribed the wit-combats which he heard at the Mermaid 
between Shakspeare and Ben Jonson; and, although 
Fuller was but a lad at the time of Shakspeare's death, 
nevertheless it is not impossible that he should have 
heard these battles of bantering. In Beaumont's epistle 
to Ben Jonson are the following lines, which give a 
glowing description of the festivities of the club: 

' Methinks the little wit I had is lost 
Since I saw you ; for wit is like a rest 
Held up at tennis which men do the best 
With the best gamesters. What things have we seen 
Done at the Mermaid I Heard words that have been 
So nimble and so full of subtile flame, 
As if that every one from whence they came 
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
And had resolved to live a fool the rest 

Of his dull life 

We left an air behind us which alone 

Was able to make the next two companies 

Right witty; though but downright fools, more wise.' 



XX. 



A description which may readily be believed to be true, 
when it is considered who were members of the society. 
The Mermaid Tavern was formerly supposed to have 
stood in Friday Street, Cheapside; but Ben Jonson, in 
his own verse, settles the question: 

4 At Bread-street's Mermaid, having dined and merry, 
Proposed to go to Holborn in a wherry.' 



THE THEATRE OF SHAKSPEARE'S TIME. 



In some respects I have possibly exaggerated the 
disorderly character of play-houses and audiences in the 
time of Shakspeare. In other particulars the represen- 
tation of the Globe Theatre during a performance, as 
given in the last act, falls far short of the reality as it 
has been described by trustworthy authorities. Among 
those who have made studies of the theatre of the Eliz- 
abethan era are Taine, Ulrici, J. Addington Symonds, 
Dr. Drake, and J. Paine Collier. I confess indebted- 
ness to each of these writers for suggestions. It is 
not the intention to write a disquisition upon the state 
of the theatre in the time of Elizabeth, but merely to 
set down a few facts that may serve to justify the 
view of the primitive English stage presented in the 
third act. 

The performances at the public theatres always took 
place by daylight, usually at about three o'clock in the 
afternoon. The Globe Theatre, where nearly all of 
Shakspeare's plays were first presented, was without a 

xxi. 



iirocm 

roof, excepting a canopy over the stage, called a ■ heaven.' 
The curtains were of dark cloth drawn apart on an iron 
rod. A single scene formed the back-wall, and one 
picture frequently sufficed for an entire play. The 
changes of scene were made bv the imagination of the 
spectators, aided by placards announcing the locality. 
The draperies were cloth curtains with slits cut in them 
for entrance and exit. These curtains were black when 
a tragedy was to be performed; otherwise they were of 
light colors. The boards were generally covered with 
rushes. There were probably traps in the stage, for 
old-time audiences had a fondness for spectres, and the 
old dramatists generally direct that the ghosts shall 
arise from beneath the stage. It is certain that there 
was a useful space under the platform, for in the earli- 
est edition of ' Hamlet ' the author directs that the Ghost 
shall be heard under the stage, first in one part, then in 
another, the actors moving from place to place to avoid 
the interruption of the ghostly voice. The actors 
dressed behind the side curtains, and there was no im- 
propriety in this as there, were no women in the com- 
panies — Ophelia and Portia, as well as the Duchess of 
Malfi and Vittoria Corombona, being played by boys or 
young men smoothly shaven. That Shakspeare was not 
insensible to the peculiarity of this, is shown by Ham- 
let's speech to one of the players: 

1 Oh, my old friend, thy face is valanced since I saw thee 
last. Comest thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my 
young lady and mistress ! By 'r lady, your ladyship is nearer 
to heaven than when I sa'v you by a chopine, Pray God your 

xxii. 



proem 

voice like a piece of uncurrent gold be not cracked within the 
ring.' 

Boys received higher pay than men ; when their 
beards grew, their salaries were reduced. Shakspeare 
never saw an actress unless by means of such an inci- 
dent as the disguise of Mistress Davenant — which is 
mere fiction. It seems almost incredible that Juliet, 
Lady Macbeth, and Cordelia were witnessed by their 
author embodied by youths. 

The price of admission was threepence to the pit and 
a shilling for a three-legged stool on the stage. Those 
who sat upon the stage answered to the present deni- 
zens of boxes at the modern opera, and took the liberty 
of interrupting the performance for their own sport. 
Ballad-mongers and fruit-peddlers went about crying 
their wares even while the curtain was up. If a thief 
were detected in the pit he was hoisted to the stage and 
temporarily pilloried where the spectators could pelt 
him if they chose. Before the play began, and during 
the intermissions, the gallants and rich citizens on the 
stage played cards, and (after Sir Walter Raleigh had 
taught them) smoked pipes. Beer and ale were sold in 
the pit, and when they took effect fights were frequent, 
the actors and servants of the theatre being called upon 
to preserve order. In addition to the pit, where there 
were no seats excepting those which spectators might 
bring with them, there was a gallery with seats, where 
the women who attended the play usually sat. Women 
spectators were comparatively few, however, and gener- 
ally of doubtful character. 

xxiii. 



The performance began with a prayer for the sover- 
eign, though sometimes this ceremony was the conclu- 
sion. When a play was about to begin, a flag was 
hoisted on the staff over the building, and three blasts 
of a trumpet served as overture. I have been unable 
to discover that music formed an important part of a 
theatrical entertainment, but there was undoubtedly an 
instrumental accompaniment of some sort to the songs 
interspersed in the plays of the time. Even 'Gammer 
Gurton's Needle,' one of the oldest plays in existence, 
had its drinking-song of many verses to open its second 
act. The musicians probably stood on the stage, or may 
have played behind the side curtains. 

While the scenery of the old theatres was extremely 
simple, it would appear that the costumes were as elab- 
orate as they were inappropriate. Alleyn, the original 
Shylock, paid as much as twenty pounds for a single 
dress, a sum equal to thrice the amount at the present 
time. As the eye could not be pleased with scenery, 
the actors strove to make themselves as attractive as 
possible; and puritanical writers of the time bewail the 
extravagance of players in their dress when preachers 
were obliged to go ill-clad. But, if the actors paid high 
prices for purple and fine linen, the managers balanced 
the extravagance by getting plays very cheaply. Dek- 
ker, Drayton, and Chettle were glad to divide among 
them four pounds for their « History of Henry the First.' 
Phillip Henslow, the manager, never gave more than 
eight pounds for a drama. Ben Jonson raised the price 
of plays to ten pounds ; while Shakspeare, who was a 

30SIV. 



$t0fltt 

good man of business, was the first rich author, except- 
ing the ancient poets and philosophers who were blessed 
with patrons. 

In regard to the misplacing of words by Sir Thomas 
Lucy, I have given him this characteristic because it is 
suggestive of Justice Shallow, the personage modelled 
upon Sir Thomas. < Malapropisms ' did not originate 
with Sheridan and Mrs. Malaprop, but with several of 
Shakspeare's characters. 

Ben Jonson, as he is represented in this comedy, is 
the 'rare Ben' of tradition, proud of his record as a sol- 
dier, despising Shakspeare because the latter ' knew lit- 
tle Latin and less Greek.' 

Thomas Kyd is a representative of a class of poets 
numerous in Shakspeare's time, a tribe of which Kit 
Marlowe and Robert Greene were the most distinguished 
members. Marlowe was killed in a tavern brawl. 
Greene died dependent upon the charity of a poor cob- 
bler who provided a shroud and a laurel-wreath for the 
wretched genius. Nothing whatever is known of Kyd, 
excepting that he lived and wrote in Shakspeare's day. 
Landor's < Citation of Shakspeare ' suggested the inci- 
dent of the table in the first act, but I regret to confess 
that I could find nothing else useful for dramatic pur- 
poses in the sketch so greatly admired by Charles Lamb. 



XXV. 



>■ Members of the Mermaid Club. 



Characters in the Comedy. 

"Will Shakspeake, a 'prentice in Stratford, a player and poet in London. 

Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote Manor. 

John Davenant, Mine Host of the Mermaid Tavern. 

Timothy Cripps, a mercer and an alderman of London. 

Ben Jonson, "l 

Francis Beaumont, 

John Fletcher, 

Sir Walter Raleigh, 

Master Cotton, 

Master Selden, 

Dick Burbage, "| 

_ „ Strolling players, afterward members of the 

Thomas Greene, > a r J 

_. „ company at the Globe Theatre. 

Henry Condell, J 

Barnaby Bullock, a gamekeeper, afterward a servant at the Mermaid 

Tavern. 

Stalker, a gamekeeper. 

Thomas Kyd, a poet out of luck. 

Sir Archibald, 

Sir Algernon, 

Jabez Quirk, a schoolmaster. 

Robin, a page to Sir Thomas Lucy. 

A Captain of the Watch. 

A Prologue Speaker. 

Two Servants at the Theatre. 

A Cut-purse. 

Judith, ward of Sir Thomas Lucy, afterward Mistress Davenant. 

Anne Hathaway, wife of Shakspeare. 

Mistress Cripps. 

Joan, maid at the Mermaid Tavern. 

xxvi. 



J Gallants who patronize the theatre. 



Characters m tfje Cometig 



Doll o' the Fortune, a ballad-monger at the Globe. 
Margery, an orange-girl at the Globe. 
Susannah, 
Judith, 

Villagers of Stratford, Spectators at the Globe Theatre, Watch- 
men, Servants, Keepers, and Strolling Players. 



| Two children, daughters of Shakspeare. 



XXVll. 



Synopsis of the tAfts. 

Act I. Charlecote House, near Stratford. 1585. 

Act II. The Mermaid Tavern, London. 1597. 

Act III. The interior of the Globe Theatre, London. 1597. 



xx vm. 



Will Shakspeare, a Comedy. 



ACT I. 

* Now whether it were Providence or luck, 
"Whether the keeper's or the stealer's buck, 
There we had venison.' q Play 

The Scene is Charlecote Manor, the residence of Sir 
Thomas Lucy, near Stratford ; a view of the house 
with its principal entrance at the right side of the stage; 
before the building an open space surrounded by shrub- 
bery ; a clump of oak trees at the centre in the back- 
ground ; a view of the Avon, and, in the distance, the 
noble oaks and elms of Charlecote Park. The Time 
is early morning. As the curtain rises, hunting horns 
are heard off the stage. Two servants enter from the 
house. Grooms enter leading horses and a pack of 
deer-hounds in leash. Several foresters, gamekeepers 
and pages come on from the right and left upper en- 
trances; lastly enter Stalker and Bullock, two keep- 
ers. These last are armed, and Bullock has his head 
bandaged. Robin, a page, enters from the house. 

Robin : So you are come at last, laggards that 
ye are ! Mayhap ye know not that Sir Thomas has 
been in a fume this hour for you. 

Stalker: Hold thy prating, little saucebox! 



WLill ^Jjakspeare, a Cornet^ 

'T is enow for you to know that we are come as soon 
as might be. There has been work for us whilst 
thou wert snoring, lazy jackanapes; work — dost 
hear? 

Bullock (dolefully): Ay, marry, and the fiend's 
work, too. An thou dost believe it not, gaze on my 
cracked sconce. 

Stalker: And my bruised wrists. Gin Sir 
Thomas thinks to hunt the deer this day, let him 
chase the thought from his mind, for never buck 
nor doe, nay, not so much as an unweaned fawn, is 
in all the park of Charlecote Manor. 

Robin: What! Can this be sooth? 

Bullock: Ay, as sooth as a broken head is 
sooth when thou hast one. 

Robin: Why now, if thou wilt have a tongue- 
lashing, tell that to Sir Thomas ; and here 's oppor- 
tunity, for his worship comes. 

(Sir Thomas Lucy enters from the house at 
right.) 

All : Your worship ! (All take off their caps 
respectfully.) 

Sir Thomas : Worship me no worships, ye knaves 
and cutpurses. Why this delay ? For it ye shall 
all be turned off, and being turned off it shall be a 



TOtll Sfjafopeare, a CometJg 

point of honor with us to see that you with all your 
families do starve and go ragged. 

All : Mercy, your worship, mercy ! 

Sir Thomas : Mercy me no mercies, ye clods ! 
I am resolved. By yea and nay ! * ye shall all 
starve merrily with your wives and brats. Come ! 
To the park ! Robin, to my horse's head. Stalker 
— Bullock — to the dogs. {All hesitate and hang 
back. Exit Robin.) What ! you hesitate ? Then 
I tell ye that ye are all traitors and shall come to 
the block. Infamous ! Ye well know that I have 
a mind to send a fat buck from our own park to our 
sovereign mistress, Queen Elizabeth. {He lifts his 
hat ; the others all lift their caps.) Yet do ye still 
hold back from the chase ? By yea and nay ! I 
shall pronounce ye all, and the axe shall fall on 
every neck among ye. 

(Stalker comes forward as if to speak to Sir 
Thomas. Bullock and others try to dissuade 
him.) 

Stalker : Back ! I say I will speak. ( To Sir 

Thomas.) May it like your worship's honor, there 

has been but one deer in the park this month or 
more. 

* * By yea and nay ' is the favorite exclamation of Justice Shallow, 
the character that is supposed to satirize Sir Thomas. 



Will &{jakspeare, a CometJg 

Sir Thomas : Has been ? Has been me no has 
beens. There is but one, and that is enough. 

Stalker : May 't please your worship, ' has 
been ' 's the word. The deer was killed on yester- 
night. 

Sir Thomas : Have I ears for this ? My deer 
killed ? Killed ! And by whom ? 

Bullock : Troth ! we know not ; but 't was by 
the same hand that clove this costard of mine. May 
he burn for it, say I. 

Sir Thomas : Oh, what a blow ! What a blow ! 
Her Majesty — so good a queen, and without a 
haunch of venison to save her from going supper- 
less to bed. Oh, I will be revenged for this ! Blood 
shall satisfy me ! Stop ! Do not take away the 
dogs. I shall hunt men to-day. (He rages and 
paces the stage.) 

Bullock : And avenge my head, your worship ? 

Sir Thomas : Out of my path, whining cur ! 
(Strikes him; then crossing to left meets Robin, 
who enters.) 

Robin (timidly) : Is your worship in good hu- 
mor now ? 

Sir Thomas : Ay, in a good humor for burning 

4 



TOtll Sfjafcspeare, a Cometig 

churches ! in a pretty mind for poisoning wells ! 
What now ? 

Robin : May it please you, sir — some visitors ; 
Jabez Quirk the schoolmaster, who brings your old 
friends Master Davenant and Alderman Cripps. 
I bade them hither. 

Sir Thomas : Ha ! This is better. Robin, some 
canary wine for the Alderman. (Aside.) Fetch 
that new thin stuff that I keep for bailiffs and the 
parson. 

Robin : Here are the honorable gentlemen. 

(He enters the house. The horses are led off. 
Some of the servants remain and group in the 
background, Jabez Quirk, a Puritan schoolmas- 
ter, Master Davenant and Alderman Cripps 
enter at the left entrance. Davenant is short and 
stout; Alderman Cripps, a mercer, is tall and 
cadaverous ; Jabez is thin, sour-visaged, and hypo- 
critical of mien.) 

Sir Thomas: Aha! Master Davenant! And 
thou, worthy Alderman Cripps ! Your company is 
most congenital to me. Sir Pedagogue, thou, too. 
Be seated all. It distresses me that there is confu- 
sion here, wherefore I regret I cannot give ye a 

5 



Will Sljakspeare, a Cometig 

more acrimonious welcome. Ho ! Robin, fetch that 
rarest and oldest canary. 

(Robin enters with wine and cups.) 

Robin: What! Rare and old? Thou didst 
say the new sour wine. 

Sir Thomas [winking at Robin and making a 
gesture of silence): The old, rare canary, thou lit- 
tle coney-catcher. 

(Robin serves the wine, Sir Thomas and the 
visitors being seated at the table before the house. ) 

Sir Thomas [tasting his wine): How say ye, 
friends; is 't not excellent? I keep it for grand 
occasions only ; and a grand occasion indeed I trow 
is a visit from Master Davenant — and Alderman 
Cripps. (He bows profoundly to both. ) 

Davenant: We have come, Sir Thomas, to 
warn thee of danger. 

Sir Thomas : Thou dost give me a limb-quak- 
ing. What danger is it ? 

Cripps : Thou must be told that there is loose 
in Stratford a venomous tiger. 

Sir Thomas : Od's life ! Tiger me no tigers ! 
Eh, then ; perhaps he ate my deer. 

Jabez Quirk : Nay, your worship conceives not 
the Alderman. He would say that there is abroad 

6 



rail &{jakspeare, a Comebg 

among us a ravening dragon of iniquity — a fiery- 
eyed serpent of destruction — a behemoth and a 
griffin of sin ; yea, verily, as I am an honest man. 

Sir Thomas : Oons ! these be worse than tigers. 
Let 's within and bar doors. 

Davenant : Nay, Sir Thomas, we mean that a 
band of vagabond players is in Stratford. 

Jabez : Verily, the truly begotten sons of Belial, 
as I am an honest man. 

Cripps : Doubtless they will come to ask your 
worship's grace to play in some barn near by ; so 
we come to warn you to grant them no favors. 

Sir Thomas : Favors ! I grant favors to play- 
ers ? Ay, marry ! I '11 favor them with brandings 
and whippings, I promise you. Know that my only 
deer was slain last night in my park, and myself 
am well nigh to being tiger, serpent, dragon, and 
behemoth. An these players come to me, I '11 fa- 
vor them with the stocks, and stripes shall warm 
their hides till for three cold winters they shall need 
no fagots. Let them come, and a murrain on 'em! 

Jabez : Have I ears ? Didst say 't was yester- 
night thy deer was slain? Verily, 'twas yester- 
night these players came to Stratford ; yea, as I am 
an honest man. 



TOtll Sfjafcspeare, a Cottutoo 

Sir Thomas : Now, by yea and nay I thou hast 
nicked the truth. 'T is a case of two and two to 
make four. When rogues come at the time treas- 
ure goes, who shall say there 's no evidence ? We '11 
apprehend these players. Jabez, thou shalt feed 
fat thy grudge 'gainst the sons of Belial. To the 
town, good Jabez ! (Pushes him toward the left. ) 
Summon the Sheriff, worthy Jabez (pushes him), 
and the Clerk (pushes), and the Constable, brave 
Jabez. (Gives him a filial push. Jabez falls. ) 

Jabez (picking himself up): I fly, your wor- 
ship ! They shall be here betimes ; yea, verily, as 
I am an honest man. (Exit.) 

Sib Thomas : Ha ! We '11 trounce these varlets, 
I promise you. Another cup, Alderman, and thou 
one, Master Cripps. What! None left i' the jug? 
Come then with me, and you shall look at my wine 
vaults ; and whilst we wait these mountebank thieves 
we '11 pledge the two fairest dames in England, Mis- 
tress Alderman Cripps — 

Cripps : Oh, sir, I beg. (Bows profoundly.) 

Sir Thomas : And lovely Mistress Davenant. 

Davenant : Alack-a-day ! There is none ; I am 
a bachelor. 



Mill &fjakgpeare, a Cametig 

Sir Thomas: Then shalt thou have another 
stoup to drown sorrow withal. Come, friends, within 
— within! 

(Sir Thomas goes off at the right upper en- 
trance. Dayenant and Cripps shake hands glee- 
fully, lock arms, and folloiv Sir Thomas. There 
is a moment's pause during which tlie stage is clear. 
A bird is heard singing softly. "Will Shakspeare 
enters from the left upper entrance. He looks about 
cautiously.) 

Will Shakspeare: All's quiet hereabouts. 
'T is as well, for after my adventure of last night I 
am none too safe near Charlecote. Judith is within, 
I feel sure. It is no time for her to be stirring 
abroad. {He taps upon the window of the house.) 
Judith ! Art within ? 

(Judith looks from a tvindow.) 

Judith : Oh, Will, is it thou indeed ? 

Will : Ay, sweet Judith, and I would it were 
a better man. 

Judith : Nay ; I would not have thee so. Me- 
thinks I would like thee little, sweet Will, an I 
liked not thy faults. 

Will : 'T is sweetly said ; and perchance the 

9 



W&ill &?jafcspeare, a Conutig 

faults of one-and-twenty * may make the virtues of 
two-score. Yet I '11 be sworn I have no fault that 
maketh me so unhappy as my chief est virtue, my 
love for thee, Judith. (He is about to take her 
hand.) 

Judith (withdrawing her hand): Hush, Will 
Shakspeare ! I cannot brook to hear thee speak of 
love. Art thou not married to Anne Hathaway ? 

Will (^ruefully): Married? Ay, nobody more 
so. But what hath marriage with Anne Hathaway 
to do with love ? True, I am married, but Anne 
Hathaway, spinster, led me to church whilst her 
relatives male followed with cross-bows and blun- 
derbusses. Let my seventeen years be seventeen ex- 
cuses. For nigh four years I have dragged an iron 
chain on every limb. You may blame a rat in a 
trap, but not me for _Anne Hathaway. You may 
blame a bird in a cage, but not me for marriage ; 
for even as the bird looks between bars at green 
fields and blue lakes, so I gaze on thy beauty ; even 
as the bird sings sad songs of vanished liberty, so 
I, in my cage built of youthful folly, sing my poor 
songs of thee, my Judith who never can be all mine. 

* The time of the play is the year 1585, when Shakspeare was be- 
tween twenty-one and twenty-two years of age. 

IO 



til Stfjafcgpeare, a Cflttutig 

Judith : Ah, yes, I love thy songs. 

Will: And thou alone dost hear them. I 
started hither yester-night to sing 'neath thy win- 
dow, but in the park I came upon a deer and could 
not resist sending an arrow into his side. 

Judith : What ! Thou didst slay Sir Thomas's 
deer ? He will be furious. 

Will : So he will, if thou dost betray me. But 
listen, Judith, I have some rhymes to read to thee. 

(He reads from a scroll. She listens, plucking 
the roses from the vine near the casement.) 

* When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,* 

I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries 

And look upon myself and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 

Featured like him, like him with friends possest, 
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 

With what I most enjoy contented least; 
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 

Haply I think on thee, and then my state 
Like to the lark at break of day arising 

From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate. 
For thy sweet love remembered such worth brings 
That then I scorn to change my place with kings.' 

* Shakspeare's Sonnet xxix. 

// 



Will &{jakgpeare, a Cornet^ 

{They are silent for a moment, while a bird 
is heard singing softly. She plucks a rose from the 
bush and gives it to him.) 

Judith : Alas, "Will Shakspeare, thou hast done 
wrong in making me think so much of thee ; yet 
think fondly of thee I do, much as I may, more 
than I ought. None that I know speaks as thou 
dost. With others, words are but the names of 
things to wear, to eat, to drink ; with tliee, words 
are like the ripple of the Avon in shady places 
'neath the willows. ( With a cliange of manner.) 
But I have not told thee the famous news. Sir 
Thomas hath said I am to be married. 

Will : Thou married ! To whom ? 

Judith : In sooth, I know not ; but Sir Thomas 
thinks well of Jabez Quirk, the school-master. 

Will : Thou art to wed the Puritan Quirk ? 
Then let doves mate with crows and asses sing 
madrigals to skylarks. Oh, but if thou dost love 
him — 

Judith : Love him ! Can I love two at once ? 
No such woman lives. I know well that love for 
thee is poison in my heart ; yet is the poison sweet. 
I can never be thine, for I will wrong no woman, 

12 



Will Sfjakspears, a (Eometig 

vixen though she may be ; nor will I wrong thee ; yet 
thy companion as an honest friend fain would I be. 

Will : Ay, and my good angel in a naughty 
world. (He kisses her Imnd.) If ever I think to 
wrong thee, Judith, may all life's ills be heaped on 
me together. I am but a reckless good-for-naught, 
'tis said ; yet there's hope for me while I can think 
of thine eyes, while I can hear thy voice, though 
thou art far from me as the evening star from the 
poor moth that flutters in the twilight. (From with- 
out are heard cheers and the refrain of the Song of 
the Strollers.) What means that pother ? Let me 
look. As I do love and live, a band of strollers ! 
Here will be sport indeed. 

Judith : Ay, I make no doubt that they come 
to ask leave for their performance. This noise will 
bring Sir Thomas, so I'll within. God keep thee, 
Will! 

Will : Sweet saint, until we meet — farewell. 
(He starts toward her.) 

Judith (stopping him with a gesture) : Fare- 
well, comrade and friend. (She disappears from 
the window.) 

Will (kissing the rose that she gave to him) : 



Will Sjafespeare, a &om&§ 

4 Comrade and friend ! ' Alas ! I never can be 
more. Purely I love thee, Judith, and may heaven 
visit me with all the sin of 't, for thou art innocent. 
(Cheers are heard without.) Yes, 'tis a troop of 
players. Why, here's a sign of Spring, for they 
say that when three daisies can be spied i' the grass, 
look for the strollers. (Looks off the stage to the 
left.) There's a merry life. "Would it were mine ! 
Ha ! That's a jest indeed. Will Shakspeare, the 
sheep-butcher, the lawyer's factotum, a player? 
(Laughs.) I will long to be a poet next. Will, 
good friend, wilt thou ask the moon for a meat- 
pasty or the sun to warm thy porridge at night ? 
There's prime jesting in the thought. I a player ? 
(He goes up the stage, laughing; turns, kisses 
his liand toward the window where Judith was, 
and goes off at the left upper entrance. The stage 
is clear. Enter from the left Eichard Burbage, 
Tom Greene, Henry Condell, and other play- 
ers, with their cart. The cart is laden with old 
dresses and parapliernalia used in plays. The 
players are followed by a crowd of villagers, yokels 
in smocks, children, young girls, old matrons, men 
both young and old. The servants of Sir Thomas 

14 



come on from the house. All enter with mxtch com- 
motion. Bullock and Stalker enter with the 
others.) 

All : The players ! Huzzah ! The players ! 

Richard Burbage : Even as ye say, friends ; 
the players are we, erewhiles of the Earl of Leices- 
ter's Company; but we have tired of courts and 
palaces. Is it for us to show our talent only to 
princes and nobles ? Not so ! We rather choose 
to let all the world see what we can do, and most 
of all do we value the opinion of the good folk of 
Stratford. What will ye — the right pleasant com- 
edy of * Gammer Gurton's Needle ? ' or are ye for 
murders and the like ? Would ye split sides with 
laughter or steep fancies in black ? Come, who 's 
for murders ? 

Bullock : Faith and troth ! To my thinking, 
there be naught so monstrous fine as a right proper 
murder. 

Burbage : Say the word, and ye shall have 
bloodshed or your fill of pranks and quiddities ; for 
in all plays whatsoever we are your most apt and 
laborious servants. 

'5 



OTtll Sfjakspcate, a Cottutig 
Wqt SfcouttMag of tlje strollers, 

RICHARD BURBAGE AND PLAYERS. 
I. 

From town to town we fare, lads, 
In bright or rainy weather; 
We have all the sister Muses in our pack. 
Oh, why should we despair, lads, 
While we are young together, 
And a penny buys a pennyworth o' sack ! 

Sing heigho ! Sing hey-dey ! 
And troll away, my brothers! 
For each day is May-day 
To hearts that mock at care. 
'T is laughter we 're after, 
We leave the frowns to others. 
Sing heigho ! Sing hey-dey ! 
A groat is cash to spare. 

% u - 

Let cavaliers with gold, lads, 
Buy any lips they fancy; 
Your player owns those lips upon the sly. 
We 've song or story old, lads, 
For Meg or Kate or Nancy, 
And they give to us the smiles that gallants buy. 

Sing heigho ! Sing hey-dey ! etc. 
16 



(After the song, Sir Thomas Lucy, Davenant, 
and Alderman Cripps enter.) 

Cripps : These be the very vermin, Sir Thomas. 

Sir Thomas: Now look at me. I'll be lym- 
phatic with 'em. 

(Burbage and the other players, as well as the 
villagers and servants, bow obsequiously to Sir 
Thomas. The men take off their caps; the women 
curtsey. ) 

Sir Thomas: How now! What have we here? 
What hedge-row tragedians, what barn-shaking 
spouters are ye? 

Burbage {advancing with a great show of tim- 
idity)'. Is 't possible that at last we tremble in the 
presence of the mighty-minded Sir Thomas Lucy, 
that peer and paragon of knighthood? For this 
moment, gods and muses, I thank ye. Ay, this 
moment is one to live for. 

Sir Thomas (to the Alderman): A soft-spoken 
thief, methinks. 

Davenant : Credit him not. When he played 
in London, he flirted most villainously with Alder- 
man Cripps' wife. 

Cripps : Ah, he 's a huge rascal, I '11 warrant 
you. 

'7 



Wrill Sfjafcspeare, a Comeog 

( The strollers encourage Burbage to continue.) 

Sir Thomas : Come, what would ye with me, 
you penitential rogues ? 

Burbage {aside)': Do you speak, Tom Greene. 

Greece : Nay, Dick, thou ; thou hast the clean- 
est shirt. 

Burbage: Most mendacious and pulchritudi- 
nous knight. . . . 

Sir Thomas : Ha ! Two words most properly 
applied. Say on ! 

Burbage : We entreat your worship to grant 
us a boon so great that we tremble in the asking. 
We were of late the players to his Highness the 
Earl of Leicester ; but we have dismissed the Earl 
and now rove the country, showing forth to En- 
gland's great ones, like yourself, the most appro- 
bated tragedies, delectable pastorals, sorrowful com- 
edies, mirthful miracles, and pitiful mysteries, all 
in a manner that the Earl hath most heartily ap- 
proved. Now, right worshipful Sir Thomas, an you 
will give us grace to play in the barn of Master 
Heywood, hard by, we will give to you a full half 
of such coppers as may be dropped into the hat, 
and, moreover, we will pray nightly for your wor- 
ship's happiness and salvation. 

- 18 



Sir Thomas : What say ye, gentlemen ? 'T is 
right business-like, and passing pious withal. 

Davenant : Ay, but think on thy slain deer ! 

Cripps : And the flirtations of these fellows 
with honest Aldermen's wives ! 

Sir Thomas : Humph ! As for Aldermen's 
wives, let Aldermen look to 'em, but . . . the deer 
. . . they shall suffer for that. (Aside to Robin.) 
Where 's the Sheriff officer ? 

Robin : Not come yet, your honor. 

Sir Thomas (aside): We must gain time, then. 
(To Burbage.) Hark ye, fellow, what manner of 
plays do ye offer? 

Burbage : The newest and most merry trage- 
dies, your worship, have we, as 'twere, on tap i' 
the cask. 

Sir Thomas: So far, so good; but we must 
know what thou art to play ere we can sanction it. 
Serve us, then, a slice of a play, that by tasting one 
pippin we may know the quality of the barrel. 

All : Ay, good, good ! Huzzah for Sir Thomas ! 
Good! Good! 

Sir Thomas: Silence, scum and dregs of the 
town ! This play shall be for me, and not for ye. 
Keep your mouths and ears shut ! Let me see one 

'9 



Will ^fjakapeare, a Cotnetig 

man listening ! ( Then to the players.) To it, rogues ! 
Let's have a taste of your quality. 

Burbage : Most stigmatized and reprehensible 
knight, we obey. Come ; is there anything lacked ? 

Greene : Ay, marry is there, Dick. We lack 
the armies of York and Lancaster. 

Condell : A brace of rascals who deserted at 
Shottery. 

Burbage : We must have two stout fellows to 
play the armies of York and Lancaster. 

Sir Thomas: Take my page, Eobin, and my 
keeper, Bullock. 

Robin : Ay, Barnaby will make a proper actor 
i' faith. 

Bullock : Indeed, why not ? Once, in * The 
Merry Devil of Edmonton/ I played the devil.* 

Burbage : And I warrant thou'lt do so now. 
Come ! Dress these worthy gentlemen for the ar- 
mies. Lay the cloth there. 

(The players dress in fantastic and motley cos- 
tumes, representative of different ages and countries. 
Robin is dressed as a soldier ; Bullock likewise. 
A cloth is spread.) 

* A play of undecided authorship. Though not printed until 1608, 
it had been acted years before. The title page states that one *T. B.' 
is the author. 

20 



Will Sfjakgpeare, a (Eonutig 

Robust {surveying himself with pride) : Odzook- 
ers ! I would like to be a player always. 

Burbage : Is all ready ? Then sound the trum- 
pet. (Shakspeare enters in a leisurely way and 
takes a seat in the crowd near L. I. B. He watches 
the players.) We will enact for your worship's 
honor * The Most Piteous Tragedy of the Lament- 
able Reign of King Henry the Sixth, with the Con- 
tentions of the Houses of York and Lancaster.' 
{Points to Bullock and Robin as the armies.) 

Sir Thomas : Stop ! Delay thy contention. Will 
Shakspeare, how comes it that thou dost invade the 
sanctity of our park ? thou the cup-companion of 
all the wild blades in Stratford, a good-for-nothing 
ne'er-do-well ? Out — out say I ! 

Will : Pardon, sweet your worship. I do be- 
seech you let me remain. Poetry is my passion in 
life, and chances to hear players are exceeding few. 

Sir Thomas : If thou stayest, be warned ! 't is 
at thy peril ; for when my keepers come they will 
cudgel thee forth, I promise thee. Go on with the 
contention, caitiffs ! 

(Jabez Quirk, a Sheriff and two other officers 
enter at the left second entrance. Sir Thomas sig- 
nals to them. Burbage comes upon the spread cloth 

21 



OEill Sfjakspeare, a (Eottutig 

as the Duke of York. He is followed by Bullock 
as a soldier. The villagers make fun of Bullock.) 

Burbage (addressing Bullock, who listens 
sheepishly) : ' Thus far, my war-like host, smiles vic- 
tory. I thank ye, gallant soldiers, one and all. But 
there is more of arduous strife to come, so look well 
to your swords and let us on. Follow yon foe and 
slay them to a man ! ' {Pointing to Robin.) 

Sir Thomas : Enough ! The play is excellent 
well acted, methinks ; so well, i' fackins, that I can- 
not bear to let such capital good players out of my 
sight. Master Sheriff, arrest them and put them 
in irons ; we will keep them jealously to ourselves. 

Burbage : What ! Is this justice ? With what 
are we charged? 

Jabez : Verily, is 'tnot enough that ye are play- 
ers and as such worse than thieves ? 

Will : Softly, schoolmaster ! what knowest thou 
of players ? 

Sir Thomas : Silence ! Where is a list of your 
company ? 

Burbage : Here, worshipful sir. ( Gives a scroll 
to Sir Thomas.) 

Sir Thomas : Ha ! Know then, Richard Bur- 
bage, Thomas Greene, Henry Condell, and you 

22 



ill &{jakgpeare, a Ccmtetfg 

others, that ye stand charged with the most mon- 
strous and indignant crime of killing, slaying, mur- 
dering in our proper park one deer, which thou didst 
likewise homicide and deprive of life. 

Burbage : Killing a deer ! 

Greene : 'T is false, your worship ; we have slain 
no deer. 

Condell : No, your honor, no ! 

Burbage : We are innocent, Sir Thomas. 

Will (aside) : Ay, innocent as the egg new- 
laid. 

(Judith appears in the doorway of the house 
at the right side. She listens.) 

Jabez : Hear them, O Lucifer, hear thy sons ! 
Have ye face to deny these charges ? Is there not 
evidence enow ? The deer was killed last night, 
and it was last night that you rogues arrived in 
Stratford. What could he clearer ? 

Cripps : Troth, none do such deeds save players 
and gypsies. 

Sir Thomas : What have ye to say, Richard 
Burbage and fellow scoundrels ? 

Burbage : My lord Judge, this is most unjust ; 
we are peaceful inoffensive subjects of Her Majesty. 
We are players 'tis true ; but some must be players. 

23 



TOtll .Sfjakgpeare, a Cometjg 

Jabez : I see no necessity for 't, as I am an hon- 
est man. 

Burbage : There is no wrong or treason in our 
plays. "We show life as it is in high or low estate. 
We hold the mirror up to nature. 

Will (aside): Good! Good, i' faith ! 'Hold 
the mirror up to nature ! ' Were I a poet, I would 
set it down. 

Burbage : Our calling testifies against us, and 
that is all. I beseech your worship, let proof be 
shown. 

Sir Thomas : Ye admit that ye are players, 't is 
enough. To me players and thieves are anony- 
mous terms. Shall there be further trial, gentle- 
men? 

Davenant : No, no ; none is needful. 

Jabez : Verily, if they plead guilty to being 
rogues and vagabonds they plead guilty to all pos- 
sible crimes. To the pillory with them ! 

(The Alderman and Jabez are delighted. Will 
Shakspeare and many of the spectators are dis- 
satisfied. Cries of ' No, no,' and 'Well done, Sir 
Thomas.') 

Sir Thomas : Silence ! (All are quiet.) Where- 
as you, Richard Burbage, and the others of you ras- 

24 



til i&fjakgpeare, a Cometjg 

cals, acknowledge yourselves guilty of the offense 
of play-acting, the law, incarcerated in me, Sir 
Thomas Lucy, sentences each of you to stand twelve 
hours in the pillory, at the end of which time ye 
shall all be whipped out of town at the cart's tail. 
Away with 'em ! {Gamekeepers and Sheriff seize 
Burbage, Greene, Condell, and the others of 
the company.} 

Will : A moment, your worship. 

Sir Thomas : Will Shakspeare, what hast to do 
with this? 

Will : Most learned Judge, I have kept silence 
till now, for that I was stricken dumb by thine elo- 
quence. Never have I heard aught to equal thy 
flow of speech, unless it be the weight of thy logic. 

Jabez : What hath this vagabond to say in the 
case? 

Will : I '11 come speedily to the matter. 'T is 
true, my lord, these men earn their bread by being 
poets and reciters of poetry. Not for them such 
honorable trades as buying offices — your pardon, Al- 
derman, — selling justice — your pardon, Sir Thomas, 
— tanning hides, sewing tattered coats, or cooking 
soups. As they are players, they are to be con- 
cluded guilty. But see how little has one's trade 

25 



TOtl Sjjakspeat*, a (frmzty 

to do with evidence ! Instead of these players be- 
ing deer-poachers, the charge must be laid at the 
door of one who follows the most respected trade 
of killing sheep; and that deer-poaching sheep- 
slayer I suspect to be Will Shakspeare. 

Bttrbage {aside to Will): Rash lad! But I 
thank thee heartily. 

Judith (aside): Oh, Will! What hast thou 
done? 

Jabez : Not the players ? What a pity ! But if 
they did not slay the deer, it was because they found 
him dead. 

Sir Thomas : Ha, Will Shakspeare ! So thou 
art the gullible person? And what hast thou to 
say for thyself? 

Will: Much; but first let me tell you, Sir 
Thomas, that I am entitled to a trial. You must 
convince me that I am guilty. 

Sir Thomas : What ! Hast not pleaded guilty 
of this most ubiquitous crime? 

Will : Of a surety, no. I said that I suspected 
myself. I demand evidence. 

Sir Thomas : Stalker, and you, Bullock, hasten 
to Will Shakspeare's cottage and see if ye can find 
traces there of venison-eating. So be it. If 'tis 

26 



ill £?f}akgpear£, a Cometifj 

trial thou dost want, Will Shakspeare, thou shalt 
have it at once. (All group as for holding court.) 
Varlet Shakspeare, thou hast broken my keeper's 
head and slain my deer. What hast to say wherefore 
thyself should not be slain and thy head broken ? 
The deer having been for the Queen intended, thou 
art a traitor to the crown. 

Will: Faith, your worship, let me hear the 
evidence. 

Sir Thomas : Barnaby Bullock, stand forth and 
state what thou knowest 'gainst the prisoner. 

Bullock: Troth, I do know my broken head 
against him. 

Will : Well, thy head 's not much, good Bul- 
lock. 

Bullock : I know more than my head tells me. 

Will: Thou dost well. But enough on this 
head. What more? 

Bullock: I know that as myself and t'other 
gamekeeper were i' th' wood yester-night, we peer- 
ing through bushes did see the prisoner walking 
right mysterious-like, sneaking as 'twere, toward 
the lodge. 

Judith (aside): Coming to see me, I'll warrant. 

Bullock: I saw a deer likewise, and some 

2 7 



Will i&ijafcgspeare, a ^ometug 

quarter of an hour after I saw the deer again, when 
dead was he as any pickled herring. 

Will: Was the deer cut up, or had it horns 
and hide? 

Bullock : Horns and hide had it, but no breath. 
I saw thee i' th' wood, and the deer dead. 

Will: Troth, that's no evidence. (Aside.) I 
must save Judith. 

Sir Thomas : Nay, what wert doing in the wood, 
then? 

Judith (aside to Will) : I can say thy purpose 
was innocent. 

Will (aside to Judith) : Hush ! (To Sir 
Thomas.) Why, as for that, I often walk i' th' 
wood on moonlight nights. (To Judith.) Fear not ; 
I'll not betray thee, sweet. (To Sir Thomas.) I 
have a fancy to seek for fairies and the like. Hast 
never heard of Robin Goodfellow? 

Sir Thomas : Not I. He keeps a tavern, I sup- 
pose. 

Cripps : Now, your worship, we'll confound him, 
for here comes more evidence. 

(Jabez enters, carrying deer horns ; Stalker, 
candying a deal table ; * tlien Anne Hathaway.) 

* See Proem. 

28 



Will ^fjakspsare, a Cometjg 

Will: What! My sweet Anne! 

Anne: So; thou hast put a halter about thy 
neck at last? Well, thou 'It have few mourners and 
I'll be none of 'em. 

Will: What! Your worship, is my wife allowed 
to testify against me ? 

Sir Thomas: She may before me when my 
deer is slain. 

Will (in mock despair) : Then all's over with 
poor Willy. 

Sir Thomas : Mistress Anne, art conjugated to 
this defendant here ? 

Anne : I am his wife, my lord, — the more's the 
pity. 

Will: 'Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true. 
Faith, I'll set that in a play sometime. 

Sir Thomas : Knowest thou aught of his char- 
acter ? 

Will : Tush, your worship ! What do wives 
know about their husbands ? 

Anne : He's a rascal and a ne'er-do-well. 

Will : There ! I told you she knew nothing 
of me. 

Anne : When he should be at his trade of shear- 
ing sheep, or mayhap doing scraps of writing for 

29 



(II .Sjjakgptare, a dEometJjj 

Lawyer Fallow, he does naught but moon away his 
time, scrawling silly rhymes and spouting from 
stage-plays. 

Judith (aside) : And this is his wife ! 

Sir Thomas : Ay, abused madam, he is a pen- 
tagon of all the vices. What more ? 

Anne : Millions more, your worship. He is the 
worst of husbands. He scarce buys me ribbons 
enow to make me fine for feast days. Thrice in 
four years hath he come home the worse for liquor. 
By night he wanders in woods and loiters in by- 
ways, with an ink-horn in his pouch and a quill 
wherewith he scribbles. He says he is looking for 
pixies, elves, and mermaids. I think he is mad. 

Sir Thomas : Is he mad enow to kill a deer, 
think you? 

Anne : I doubt it not. 

Sir Thomas : 'Tis most competent and defect- 
ive evidence. 

Will : I crave your worship allow me to ask 
the witness a few questions. 

Sir Thomas : Certes, provided thou askest 
nothing likely to spoil the case against thee. 

Will : Mistress Anne Hathaway Shakspeare, 

30 



Mil ^fjakspeare, a Cornet^ 

is it not true that they lie most wantonly who say 
thou art a shrew and a common scold? 

Anne : Thou villain ! Thou brawling, tipsy, 
idling villain! I a shrew? la, scold? Oh, if I 
had a broom stave here, I'd score thy cracked pate. 
(Will retreats in mock terror.) 

Jabez : Now, by the rood, a most affectionate 
and mild tempered dame ; yea, verily, as I'm an 
honest man. 

Will (from behind a tree) : Take the witness. 
I'll none of her. (Comes out.) 

Jabez : Here, your worship, I have a piece of 
the grandest evidence in the world. 'Tis plain 
Will Shakspeare was the slayer, for here are deer- 
horns, found in his cottage. 

Will : Keep them, good Jabez. Thou 'It have 
need of them, I '11 warrant. 

Anne : Tut ! This is a fool's thought. A for- 
ester gave them to me three years agone. 

Stalker (triumphantly) : But what say ye to 
this, masters, and your honor ? (He brings fonvard 
the deal table.) 

Sir Thomas : Why, what proof is this ? 

Stalker : In Shakspeare's cottage, your honor, 



til JSljafcspeare, a €amty 

was this table smeared with grease. If it be ven- 
ison grease, it is proof against the prisoner. 

Sir Thomas : Hold the table to the Court's nose, 
that the Court may decide upon the source and 
quality of aforesaid smearings. (They hold the 
table before Sir Thomas, who sniffs.) 

Will : I trust your worship's nose gives evi- 
dence for me. 

Sir Thomas : I' f ackins ! I cannot incriminate 
whether it be venison or merely soft soap. Do you 
smell it, Alderman. 

Davenant (sniffing) : Venison grease, say I. 

Cripps : Venison, for a thousand pound. 

Anne : Were ever such fat wits ? Go to, ye 
dullards. This is but the droppings of a candle. 

All: Ah! (Disappointed.) 

Will: Your honor and gentlemen, one thing 
perplexes me. If these be the horns of the deer 
and this his grease, how is 't that the animal's body 
is still intact, horns and hide, as Bullock hath said ? 

(Sir Thomas, the Alderman, Jabez, and Offi- 
cers are taken aback and proceed to deliberate.) 

Sir Thomas : 'Tis a most profound and sala- 
cious thought. 

Anne : Nevertheless, I believe him guilty. 



til ^jjakspeave, a Cometig 

Jabez : Never a doubt upon 't. 

Sir Thomas : Come, Will Shakspeare, thou 
wert seen in the park near Charlecote Hall last 
night. Tell why thou wert there. 

Judith (aside) : Speak, Will, and save thyself. 

Will (aside) : And shame thine innocence ? 
Never ! (Aloud.) A truce to all subterfuge. Let 
come what may, I confess I am the culprit. 

Sib Thomas: So 'tis out at last! What pun- 
ishment shall I give to such a miscreant ? He is 
ripe for hanging. 

Anjste : I pray your worship send him home 
with me and let me teach him to mend his manners. 

Will : Nay, your honor, torture has been for- 
bidden by Her Majesty. 

Sir Thomas : What say ye, gentlemen, — one 
day in the pillory and a hundred lashes ? Do you 
fratricide with me ? 

Alderman Cripps : Ay, your honor. It is 
most just. 

Judith (coining forward) : Sir Thomas ! 

Sir Thomas : Do not interrupt me now, Judith. 

Judith : When thou wert ill of late I tended 
thee, and so well, as thou didst say, that thou didst 
promise to grant me whatsoever boon I might ask. 

33 



TOfll Sjjafcspeare, a Comebg 

Sir Thomas : Well, how's this to the purpose? 

Judith : I ask but a small boon, the pardon of 
this prisoner. 

Sib Thomas: Nay, 'tis too slight; I'll give 
thee a precious brooch instead. 

Judith : I '11 have naught else. This is my whim. 

Sir Thomas : Pardon him I cannot. 

Judith : A lighter sentence, then. 

Will (aside) : Sweet soul that thou art. 

Sir Thomas : Let it be this, then : Thou, Will 
Shakspeare, deer-killer and rogue, shalt quit Strat- 
ford this hour and return to it not till thou art a 
decent citizen, the which means never. Come, Al- 
derman, and ye, rabble, disperse ! Will Shakspeare, 
let Stratford be quit of thee within the hour or the 
pillory and the whipping-post. And ye, Strollers, 
get ye out of Stratford, or our gaol will gather ye 
as a net gathers fish. 

(All off excepting Judith and Will. She is 
about to go, when he signals to her to remain.) 

Judith : Why did you not say you came to sing 
a song at my window ? Where's harm in that ? 

Will : Tut ! Didst mark my wife, the gentle 
Anne? Where a rush-light glows she sees the sun. 

S4 



WLill Sijakspeate, a tonetog 

Judith : I pity her. 

Will : Pity me, not her. 

Judith : I pity both. She is unhappy and so 
art thou. You are ill-mated. She is a worthy 
woman with an over-young husband. So thou art 
driven from Stratford? 

Will: Ay, and 'tis happy banishment, except 
that I leave thee ; but for thee I should not have 
been driven luckily hence, but should have had the 
pillory, the lash, and Anne — gentle Anne. An thou 
couldst go with me, I would fare forth gaily enow. 
As it is, let me starve i' the hedges. 'T will need 
no schoolmaster to count the hearts that break. 

Judith : Why, thou hast thy trade. 

Will : Ay, I have been servant to a lawyer and 
'prentice to a butcher ; but the birds of the air eat 
no mutton, neither do the conies of the wood bring 
suits 'gainst one another. Methinks I shall be an 
apt pupil of Dame Famine, and 'tis to her school 
I go. So, I must leave thee to a forced marriage 
with Jabez the pedagogue ? 

Judith : No, no ; I must find a way out of that. 

(The Song of the Strollers is heard off the 
stage.) 

35 



SBiIl Sfjaksptate, a Comeog 

BURBAGE AXD CHORUS. 

Sing heigho ! Sing hey-day ! 
And troll away, my brothers ! 
For each day is May-day 
To hearts that mock at care. 
'T is laughter we 're after, 
We leave the frowns to others. 
Sing heigho ! Sing hev-dav ! 
A groat is cash to spare. 

(Burbage. Greece., and the Strollers enter 
with their cad.) 

TV ill : Ah, Dick Burbage, you are a happy 
wight ! Your way through life is a singing way. 

Burbage : In this trade, young man. one needs 
must sing or weep. Here we are driven from Strat- 
ford, and must foot it weary miles to the next town. 
There we must beg grace from arrogance, and for 
what? For leave to play a dozen parts in one 
piece, and to receive for share tuppence and three 
old candle-ends. 

"Well (aside) : Why should not I join fortunes 
with them? (To the Players.) Comrades, be kind. 
Take me with you, and I will help you to starve. 

Burbage : Nay, I fear me thou hast too much 
sprouting beard, my friend. 

Will : And is a beard a sin 'mongst players ? 

>6 



til Sijafcspeare, a Cornet^ 

Burbage : Ah, but if thou hadst no beard, we 
could make goodly use of thee to play our queens, 
duchesses, and country wenches. 

Judith (aside) : Would I could play such parts ! 

Will (aside to Judith) : Do thou dress as a 
youth, and meet us at the next village as 't were by 
chance. Thou shalt be a boy player and have op- 
portunity to be a queen seven times daily. 

Judith: I'll do it to be near thee, Will, and 
escape marriage with Quirk. 

Will (to Burbage) : I might help to write 
your plays. 

Burbage : What ! thou, a country lout, write our 
plays? (The Strollers laugh mockingly at Will.) 
Soothly, thou art too young for aged men and 
too old for damsels ; yet come thy ways, for thou 
art a stout varlet and can lend a hand at the cart. 

(Sir Thomas, Cripps, Davekant, and Jabez 
enter from the house. During the dialogue that 
follows, Stalker, Bullock, Robin, Attendants, 
Keepers, and Pages enter from right and left, and 
form groups in the background.) 

Sir Thomas: What! Vagabond, art not gone 
yet? Forth at once, or thou shalt be whipped out 
at the cart's tail ! 

i7 



M ^Jjafopeare, a (JEometog 
Jabez: Ay, whip him! Whip him, whether or 



no: 



Will : Most gladly will I please your courteous 
worship, and you, most Christian pedagogue. Keep 
my memory green in Stratford. Ay, build me a 
monument. I go to be a player. 

All : A player ! 

Jabez : A proper punishment for thee. 

Bullock: Our Will Shakspeare a player? 
Hoity-toity! (All laugh loudly.) 

Sir Thomas : Then wilt thou come to the gal- 
lows sooner than I thought. 

Jabez : Go, get thee gone, for thou and thy trade 
are well met. What are players but beggars, and 
caterpillars on the commonwealth? 

Will : Soft you a little ! Players are not so 
villainous. Their business is with the minds of 
their fellows. They deal in tears that soften the 
heart, or in mirth that keeps old wrinkles at a dis- 
tance. They take us away from ourselves and bid 
us to dream awhile. 

Burbage : Well said, new brother. Thou hast 
it pat. 

Jabez : Bah ! What is a player ? a — 

Will : What is a player, sayest thou, my friend ? 
?8 



TOtll Sfjakspeare, a Cometjg 

Methinks he is all men, and yet himself. Now 
young beneath a moonlit balcony, with 'Listen, 
sweetheart, wilt thou not believe I love thee ? Take 
my soul in this one kiss.' Anon, an aged and en- 
feebled carle, with joints that jump whenas the east 
wind blows, who sniffs and shivers, hobbling to his 
end, with 'Pitikins! the world's not what it was. 
Women are ugly now. Alack! Alack! I do remem- 
ber — oh, the days I've seen! No such gallanting 
now — when I was young — ' We see i' th' player 
the kind, virtuous man, whose honor is his pearl; 
and then behold in him embodied Vice; the mur- 
derer creeping upon his enemy by night ! One blow ! 
another ! and a man lies dead ! The victim's face 
is to the moonlight turned. ' Oh, God ! My work ! ' 
Then terror in the flight. We see remorse pursue 
him like a ghost; his lonely fears, till haunting 
Nemesis cries out, ' Let that same dark ensanguined 
hand that slew him slay thyself.' And so — the end ! 
We see light Mirth come with a wanton song, with 
' Ho, my lasses and my lads, come all ! Who 's for 
the woodland on a night in May?' We see the 
motley Fool with jibes and saws, or his cross-ques- 
tions and his answers crook'd : ' Come, tell me what's 
the tailor's hardest dinner ? ' How now ! The tai- 

39 



Will ^Jjakspeare, a Comers 

lor's hardest dinner — h'm ! < Why, his own goose, 
though never so well boiled.' Wouldst have the 
brawling fellow from the wars? He's here, the 
roystering swashbuckler who draws at the least 
word, with : < Forth, my bolt of steel ! What . . . 
I — /pay for sack? Vile tapster, draw ! I'll pay 
thee, sirrah, with a cloven pate. I pay ? Oons ! 
Blood and death! I've killed a score, and one 
makes little matter. Slave, come on ! ' The hypo- 
crite sees in the actor's glass his painted shadow: 
' Nay, sweet friend, I pray accuse me not. I love 
thee much too well to do thee such a wrong. Oh, 
fie — fie — fie ! I speak ill things of thee ? Oh, mon- 
strous! No; thou art deceived. I'm faithful as 
thy thought; so go thy ways. (Pause.) Bah! Peev- 
ish, trusting fool; yet a few days and I will have 
thy life, and all thou hast, here in this little hand.' 
Ambition — man that fain would grasp the stars; 
Envy — the odious vice of helpless slaves; Despair 
— the one of hope and love bereft; Greed — in the 
miser, who sits all alone, and quakes at the wind's 
breath, or at the mouse that, scurrying, stirs the 
plaster in the wall. ' Ha ! in the window ! Was 
not that a face ? No ; naught but darkness. God ! 
I have a thought — my treasure! If 'twere not 

40 



til Sljakspeare, a Cometog 

there ! Bar the door ! All 's quiet ! Let me look. 
Come, shifting board that covers all I love. I fear 
to look! If it should not be there! If some — no, 
no ! My beauty, my sweet gold, my darling gold, 
they could not take thee from me. No, no, no! 
Let them but try it! You are there — there — 
there!' . . . And so we see and dream, and, 
dreaming, see a lesson in each counterfeited life. 
We learn more love for virtue, hate for vice, to 
laugh at care, to help our fellow-men. And they 
who teach all this, my friends, are players . . . 
So fare ye well; I go to be of them. Beware! 
Beware, Sir Thomas! If I starve, my ghost will 
haunt thee. Friends and foes, farewell ! 

(Will Shakspeare waves a farewell to Sir 
Thomas, Davenant, and Cripps, shakes hands 
with some of the villagers, signals to Judith, who an- 
swers in like manner. The refrain of the Strollers' 
Song is heard. Will Shakspeare clasps the hand 
of Burbage, and the Players go off, as the curtain 
falls, to the music of their song.) 

THE END OF THE FIBST ACT. 



41 



til Sfjafespeaw, a Ccmtetm 



ACT II 

1 Souls of poets dead and gone, 
What Elysium have ye known, 
Happy field or mossy cavern, 
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? ' 
— Keats. 

' Simpletons ? My match is Marlowe. 
Sciolists ? My mate is Ben. 



Meanwhile, greet me — "Friend, good fellow, 
Gentle Will," my merry men.' 

— Robert Browning. 

The Scene is the interior of the Mermaid Tavern in 
London. At a long table at the centre of the stage, 
in the background, are seated John Fletcher, Sir 
Francis Beaumont, Richard Burbage, Sir 
Walter Raleigh, Master Selden, and Master 
Donne, drinking and carousing. At a small table 
at the right, down stage, are Ben Jonson and Mas- 
ter Cotton the antiquary playing at dice. All have 
tankards before them. There are doors at right and 
left; a door in the rear. A large upright clock stands 
at right, up stage; a table at left, up stage. Loud 
laughter and clattering of tankards as the curtain rises. 
Barnaby Bullock, now attendant at the tavern, is 
in the midst of a recitation. 

Sir Walter Raleigh : Good again, Barnaby ! 
Excellent well mouthed, i' faith ! 

All : Most excellent, brave Barnaby ! More ! 

More! 

42 



Will Sjjakgpeare, a (Eometig 

Bullock (brandishing a tankard as he recites): 
'As for myself, I walk abroad at night and kill 
sick people groaning under walls.' 

Ben Jonson : Most capitally groaned! 

Burbage (aside) : Nay, Ben, obstruct him not. 

Bullock : ' Sometimes I go about and poison 
wells. I fill the gaols with bankrupts every year, 
and with young orphans plant I hospitals, and every 
moon make some or other mad.' * 

Ben Jonson : Call the watch, ho ! Here's the 
greatest villain roams unhanged. Cease to poison 
wells, and give me to drink, or thou wilt make me 
mad. (Bullock serves Jonson with liquor.) 

Burbage : But who art thou that dost such mon- 
strous things? 

Bullock (hesitating) : Od's my life ! I know 
not why I poison wells, but Master Shakspeare bade 
me say all this, and told me it was writ by Master 
Jonson here. (All laugh at Jonson, who is en- 
raged.) Why, was't not well said, and proper 
withal ? 

All : Most admirable ! Ay, ay, well indeed ! 

Bullock : Hey, let me alone for acting. Once, 
in 'The Merry Devil of Edmonton,' I played the 

*From Marlowe's 'Jew of Malta.' 
43 



ill Sfjakgpeare, a Cometig 



devil ; and all said I had a pretty face for devils. 

Burbage : Troth thou hast ! I am a cat else ; 
and here I pledge thee, Barnaby. In Will's next 
history thou shalt be the king. 

All : Barnaby forever ! 

Bullock : Faith ! I '11 not play a king. I have 
a mind to play the fool ; then could I sing a song. 

Sir Walter : And dost sing too ? 

Bullock: Ay; dost think I have listened to 
larks for nothing? I have bought many a ballad 
for a farthing, and learned 'em too. Here is one, 
old, yet passing merry withal. 

% Catrfj. 
Bullock : Come and follow me, follow me, follow me ! 
All: Where away must we follow thee, follow 

thee? 
Bullock: Follow to the shade of the greenwood tree. 
All: Wherefore to ,the wood should we follow 

thee? 
Bullock: A monstrous merry sight to see, 

Follow, follow me! Follow, follow me! 
All: What's the sight we are to see, 

If we follow thee, if we follow thee ? 
Bullock: I'll show ye where two lovers be 

Who sit beneath the greenwood tree, 
Young Chloe fair and Strephon free. 
Follow, follow me ! Follow me ! 

44 



Will ^fjafopxare, a Cornet^ 



All: Lead on, Dan Cupid, lead on; 

Lead on to the greenwood tree. 
We will follow, follow, follow, 
Though thy promises be hollow; 

We will follow, follow thee. 

Bullock: Why is Strephon's laughter so light and so 

free? 
All: Lead us on, for we follow thee, follow thee. 

Bullock: Why are Chloe's blushes so rosy to see ? 
All: Lead us on to see 'neath the greenwood tree. 

Bullock: He gives her kisses three times three; 

Naughty rogue is he ! Naughty rogue 
is he ! 
All: And pretty Chloe, what does she ? 

Come; we follow thee, follow thee. 
Bullock: She blushes monstrous prettilie; 

She takes his kisses three times three; 

Then pouts for that no more gives he. 

Follow, follow me ! Follow me ! 

All: Lead on, Dan Cupid, lead on; 

Lead on to the greenwood tree. 
We will follow, follow, follow, 
Though thy promises be hollow; 
We will follow, follow thee. 

{After the song, laughter and commotion. 
Will Shakspeare enters.) 

Sir Walter : And now drink welcome to Will 
Shakspeare. 

45 



ill Sljakgptare, a Conufcg 

All (excepting Ben Jonson) : Ay, ay, wel- 
come to him. (They drink.) 

Will : My best thanks, friends all. 

Ben Jonson (at left table) : Welcome to him ? 
A halter to him, say I. (He throws dice angrily.) 

Master Cotton : Deuces ! Ha, ha, ha ! Thou 
hast lost again, Ben. 

Will : So, so ! I find ' Every Man in his 
Humor.' * All merry but Ben. What ! Is there 
not canary sack enow in the Mermaid to drown 
thy scurvy disposition ? Ho, Barnaby ! a stoup of 
liquor for this green and yellow melancholy. 

Burbage : Nay, Will ; no more sack for Ben. 
Faith ! He has had a butt of it already. 

Will : Then is he a sackbut that I '11 not play 
upon. 

Ben Jonson : Thou hadst best not. Remember 
that I have been in the wars in Flanders, and my 
sword is long. Likewise have I been at the uni- 
versity, and I can demolish thee with Latin and 
Greek as well as spit thee like a snipe. 

Will : Ay, my choleric paragon, for scholar- 
ship of the sword, for thrusting in Greek and par- 
s' Jonson's play was first acted in November, 1596, one year before 
the period of this scene at the Mermaid. 

46 



Will ^jjakspxare, a (Etometog 

rying in Latin, thou art unmatched. Yet one thing 
thou canst do better than all. 

Ben Jonson : Some insult 's here ! Well, versi- 
fier, what is it ? (Draws his sword.) 

Will : Well, poet, it is to lead a catch. So put 
up thy sword, and, if thou canst, forget thy Greek 
and let thy song be in right English. Troll, troll, 
thou super-educated swashbuckler ! 

(Jonson hesitates.) 

Sib Walter : Come, Ben ! Thou knowest our 
rule. None may refuse. 

Ben Jonson : Have with you, then ! 

&0ttfl. 

Ben Jonson : Come, soldiers, fill each quartern up, 

And drown the caitiff, Care. 
Come, let us pledge a foaming cup 

To the fairest of the fair. 
And who d' ye say she is, my lads, 

Who wins that goodly name ? 
Who can the lady be, my lads ? 

Let each proclaim her name. 

(In the chorus the voices answer one another.) 

All : 5 T is Sylvia, my Sylvia ! 

Nay, nay, a truce ! 'T is Joan ! 
'T is Bet ! 'T is Belle ! 'T is Kate ! 'T is Nell ! 
'T is Phillida my own ! 

47 



Will Sijafcgpeare, a Comttjg 

'T is Moll ! 'T is Meg ! 'T is Poll ! 'T is Peg ! 

She wins mine eyes alone ; 
And she 's the fairest of the fair, 

Who makes my heart her throne. 

Ben Jonson : I care not what the world may think ; 

I wis who fairest is ; 
So to that certain one I drink 

Who gave me last a kiss. 
I '11 not pronounce her gentle name 

To this same wanton rout ; 
Since, an ye knew how fair the dame, 

I fear ye 'd seek her out. 

All : 'T is Sylvia, my Sylvia ! etc. 

Will : Now for our play, for we must have one 
in a fortnight. What shall it be ? 

Beaumont : I do bethink me of a most delect- 
able old play called — How is it now? — ' Hamlet.' 

Fletcher : Ay, I recall it ; ' Hamlet,' the mel- 
ancholick prince. 

Burbage : Ah, that was as pleasantly stuffed 
with murders as a pudding with plums. 

Will: Why should not that be made to serve 
our turn? 

(Sir Thomas Lucy and Jabez Quirk enter. 
They are unobserved by the others, excepting Barn- 
es 



OTtll &fjak!3peare, a Comebg 

aby, who welcomes them, leads them to a table, and 
waits upon them.) 

Will : I do confess mine ignorance. What is 
the matter in it? 

Fletcher : Why, let me see — 

(Barnaby Bullock is much interested during 
the discussion that follows.) 

Burbage: Dost not remember? 'Tis of the 
Prince of Denmark, young Hamlet — that 's I. His 
father is murdered by — by — 

Beaumont : By the reigning king, the usurper. 

Fletcher : Ay, that will do for the first murder. 

(Barn aby frightened as he listens aside.) 

Will : Good ! Murder number one. That 
starts us fairly on the path of killing. 

Sir Thomas {overhearing and alarmed): Mur- 
der! 

Jabez (aside) : Verily, what cut-throat brood is 
this ? An we get not hence, we will be slain ; yea, 
as I am an honest man. 

Will : Come, now our finger-tips are dipped in 
blood, what other deeds of carnage shall we do ? 

Burbage : As I remember, Hamlet's father's 
ghost revisiteth the glimpses of the moon. 

49 



Will &|jadbpeare, a Cornea 

Will : A good speech that ! 

Fletcher : Ay, comes to tell Hamlet of the 
murder. 

Sir Thomas (aside) : Murder again ! Here's 
pretty doings ! 

Beaumont : Thus Hamlet learns his father was 
poisoned by drops in his ear. 

Burbage: So the Prince swears to have re- 
venge upon the proof. He feigns madness — a light 
task to one half -mad already — summons players to 
the court and bids them enact before the usurper a 
scene like that of the murder. 

Will : It is a great thought. I can see it in 
my mind's eye ; the King starting guilty-like at the 
play. I can hear Hamlet's cry triumphant. But 
what more? 

Burbage : Much. There are many murders 
to be done. First, the King. 

Sir Thomas (aside) : Murder the King ! 

Jabez (aside) : Why, that's the King of France 
surely. 

Sir Thomas (aside) : They are bent upon stir- 
ring up sediment and evolution ! 

Burbage : The fair young girl, Hamlet's love, 

dies likewise. 

50 



Beaumont: Ay, and her brother. 

Burbage : And her father, the old man. 

Jabez (aside) : These villains make nothing of 
slaughtering whole families. 

Will : Who more ? That's not enough. 

Sir Thomas (aside): This fellow's emaciated 
for blood. 

Fletcher : Oh, there can be others. There 's 
the Lord Hamlet himself. 

Will: But the Queen, the treacherous Queen! 
She must die too. 'Tis only just. 

Sir Thomas (aside): By the saints! They 
would kill our beloved Elizabeth. Oh, climax dire 
of villainies ! 

Will : Why, this Queen 's the guiltiest of all. 
She was the prime cause of all the wickedness. 
We '11 divide up the work, and so save time ; but 
if I 'm to have choice, I '11 take the whole of Ham- 
let's part upon myself. Also will I take it a pleas- 
ure to kill so bad a Queen. A bumper to our en- 
terprise ! (Drinks.) * 

* It is quite reasonable to suppose that Shakspeare received assist- 
ance from members of the group of dramatists wherein he was the 
central figure. Literary collaboration was much in vogue. The un- 
even quality of some of Shakspeare 's plays may be thus accounted for ; 
such weaknesses as the apparition scene in 'Cymbeline,' for example. 

5' 



Will ^ijafegpeare, a Cotneog 

Sir Thomas (aside): Was ever such an unmol- 
lified scoundrel? 

Jabez (aside): Monstrous! Grammercy! Look 
again ! Dost not know him ? 

Sir Thomas : Not I. Yet stay ! His face ! 
Yes, 'tis that villainous deer-stealer, Will Shak- 
speare ! (In his surprise he speaks the name so 
loudly that Will overhears.) 

Will: Did I hear my name? What! My 
friend and foe. Sir Thomas Lucy ! 

Burbage : Ay, the original of thy portrait of 
him. (Sings.) 

* If Lucy be lucy, as some folk miscall it, 
Then sing lucy Lucy whatever befall it.' * 

All (singing uproariously): 

* If Lucy be lucy, as some folk miscall it,' etc. 
Will : 'T is to this wight I owe my presence 

here. He drove me from Stratford and made me 
a player and playmaker. 

Jonson : Marry ! for that he should suffer. Let 
us put rat's-bane in his sack. 

Sir Thomas (taking Jonson's threat in ear- 
nest) : Murder ! Murder ! 

* This couplet has been slightly altered to suit the taste of audiences 
at the present time. (See Proem.) The Warwickshire pronunciation 
can be restored at the reader's discretion. 

" 52 



Willi ^jjakspeare, a Cornet^ 

Will: Nay, I'll banish him. (With mock 
ceremony): Sir Thomas Lucy, thou and thy smug 
companion there are found guilty of being most 
tyrannical rascals ; and as such we do hereby banish 
you from our several presences. Go, Sir Thomas ; 
starve in the hedges, as thou didst bid me do. 

Burbage : Out with ye, knaves, and rejoice to 
'scape so lightly. 

Sir Thomas (going tremulously)-. Soothly, I do 
rejoice. 

Jabez (going)-. And I, yea, as I am an honest 
man. 

Sir Thomas : I go, Will Shakspeare (aside) to 
fetch the gallows merchants to thee, thou would-be 
killer of queens. 

Will : Ay, go speedily, for thou art banished. 

All (singing): 
' If Lucy be lucy, as some folk miscall it,' etc. 

(Sir Thomas and Jabez go off as all laugh 
and mock at them.) 

Will: A good riddance means another bowl. 
Ho, Barnaby! do thine office. 

Bullock (reciting, tankard in hand): 

Ay, here am I ! the king of purple Tyre, 

Or the pale ghost of him who wore the crown. 

53 



fUtll Sfjakgpeare, a Comebg 

Will: Good, pale ghost, deal out to each of 
these poets thy choicest liquid inspiration. 

Will: When silly sheep freeze on the moor ; 

When May-day bringeth ring-time ; * 
When Autumn's brisk wind shakes the door, 

When blackbirds whistle Springtime ; 
St. Dunstan's day ; St. Swithin's day ; 

Howe'er the seasons vary ; 
Or shine or sleet ; all times are meet 

For bowsing good Canary. 

All: Fill high ! Fill high ! 
Pour down and fill again ! 

Troll, troll the steaming bowl, 
An ye be Englishmen. 

Old Care, the dragon, we '11 kill with a flagon ; 
Let Gossip Care go pack ; 

We '11 drown the jade in oceans made 
Of stout Canary sack. 

Will: When old Sir Crow against the snow 

Sits rueful on bare trees-a, 
When blossoms from the hawthorn blow 

With every April breeze-a ; 
When bare-kneed boys sit by the brook, 

To hook the trout so wary; 
When acorns brown the squirrel pelts down, — 

'T is then I quaff Canary. 

* * In the Spring time, the only pretty ring time.' — As You Like It. 

54 



til ^fjatopsare, a Cnmeog 

All : Fill high ! Fill high ! 

Pour down and fill again, etc. 

(All go off excepting Will, who remains seated 
at a table. He drinks the liquor remaining in his 
tankard.) 

Will: This subject likes me well. Methinks 
this vengeful Prince is no bad dish for a poet. I '11 
sit down to it at once. 

{Enter Judith, now Mistress Davenant, wife 
of the landlord of the tavern.) * 

Mrs. Davenant : Oh, Will ! Art alone ? 

Will: Ay, Judith, but for my new acquaint- 
ance, the Prince of Denmark. 

Mrs. D.: A Prince? I see no one. 

Will : He is only a new friend for a tragedy. 
But thou dost not know these friends of mine. 
(Carelessly.) Fetch me a mug of ale, Judith, 
prithee. 

Mrs. D. (laughing heartily) : Oh, this is rare! 
Oh, time and change, but this is too rare ! Why, 
I mind me when thou didst give all thy time to 
writing verses to me. My hair was a sonnet ; my 
lips a sonnet ; mine eyes — two sonnets ; all vowing 

* For certain gossip about Dame Davenant and Master Shakspeare 
the inquisitive reader is referred to the Proem. 

55 



til ^jjakspeare, a (Eometig 

an eternity of love. And now 'tis 'Fetch me a 
mug of ale, Judith.' (Laughs.) 

Will : Why, Judith, I did love thee. 

Mrs. D.: Ay, Will — did love me. 

Will : Why, how now ? Friendship, my Judith, 
is a diamond that shines brightly set in the gold of 
an old love. 

Mrs. D.: Ah! I have no mind for such gauds. 

Will : Thou wert my ideal, my inspiration, till 
thou didst finally accept the hand of worthy mine 
host Davenant. Would thou wert again my inspir- 
ation ! I need thee much for my heroines of the 
theatre. What a wondrous lad thou wert, Judith ! 

Mrs. D.: Oh, how I long for doublet and hose 
again, and a place as boy actor of queens at the 
Globe! 

Will : I must in some way contrive to get your 
husband's leave. I have a woman character in 
mind that no lad can play. What shall I call her ? 
Olivia? Felicia? Nay, that means happiness. 
Ophelia, the fair Ophelia ! Oh, I must have you for 
that part ! 

Mrs. D.: 'Tis useless. Davenant will never 
consent. But it would be his desert if I deceived 
him, for he treats me shamefully. 

56 



Will ^Ijakspeare, a Cometig 

Will : What ! He does not value you above 
all the world? 

Mrs. D.: No more than you do. You shall 
hear. (She calls at door. ) Mistress Cripps, come 
hither, prithee. (Mistress Cripps enters.) 

Mrs. Cripps : Your servant, Master Shakspeare. 

Mrs. D.: Come, chuck, tell Master Shakspeare 
what is thine opinion of husbands. 

Mrs. C: Faith, of two of them I have no opin- 
ion at all. 

Will: And I can vouch that their two names 
are Cripps and Davenant. Come, sit ye here, and 
let me be your confessor. 

(They sit; Will at the centre; Mrs. Cripps 
at his left ; Mrs. Davenant at his right.) 

Mrs. D.: To begin with, my husband is in love 
with Mistress Cripps. 

Mrs. C: And mine with Mistress Davenant. 

Will : Ah, I cannot blame them. 

Both: What! 

Will : Nay, then, I do blame them. How can 
they be so. 

Both: How's this? 

Will : Patience ! My meaning is that as each 

57 



ill iSfjakspeare, a Cometog 

has one of you he should not want the other, and 
so be the owner of all the beauty in London. 

Mrs. C: Ah, 'tis prettily bespoken. (Appeased.) 

Mrs. D.: My husband thinks that I have gone 
to visit my aunt in Smithfield, and he has sent for 
Mistress Cripps to meet him here. 

Will : Thou dost amaze me ! 

Mrs. C: Whilst my husband has made an ap- 
pointment for Mistress Davenant to receive him 
here. He told me he was going to see his Uncle 
Solomon, the vintner. 

Will : Oh, villainous world ! And how came 
ye to unearth these two foxes? 

Mrs. D.: I, like a virtuous wife, told Mistress 
Cripps of her husband's treachery. We will play 
them a trick, an we can put our heads together. 

Will : By all means, then, let us put our heads 
together. {Jestingly.) 

Mrs. D. : Nay, thou dost take me not. 

Will (jestingly): Ah, but I would. 

Mrs. D. : Leave thy folly, Will, and teach us 
how we can make game of them and give them a 
lesson. 

Will: Ha! here's opportunity. We will put 
a trick upon Davenant, and then, if he refuses to 

58 



SMtll ^fjakspeate, a Cornet^ 

let you play at the theatre, I '11 vow to put him in 
a play and make him a laughing-stock of London. 
Where is that pert maid of thine, young Joan ? 

Mrs. D. : Joan? Why, she's in the kitchen 
there. (Points to right-hand door.} 

Will :. I must have her to help the plan. 

(Da ven ant's voice is heard without.) 

Mrs. D. : My husband's voice ! 

Will: Now for it! Do you, Mistress Davenant, 
hide in yonder room. I can trust you not to go far 
from the door. You, Mistress Cripps, remain and 
take on your prettiest air of mockery modesty. I 
will send a billet to Dick Burbage, who for such- 
like sport is the primest lad in London. Mistress 
Davenant — concealment. Mistress Cripps — de- 
mureness. Remember, ye are giving lessons now 
— not learning them. Hush ! Leave all to me. 

(Mrs. Davenant goes out at the left-hand door. 
Will Shakspeare goes out at the right-hand door. 
Mrs. Cripps remains seated at centre.) 

Will (peering in at the right): Quake and trem- 
ble thy coyest, Mistress Cripps. 

Mrs. C : Ay, trust me for it. 

(Will disappears, Davenant enters at the 
centre door.) 

59 



Davenant : Ah, thou art here at last. Divin- 
est creature ! Superfinest fair alive ! 

Mrs. C : Oh, Master Davenant, of a surety thou 
dost flatter. 

Davenant : Nay, sweet life, for I am sure that 
thy lips do rival my choicest wines in richness of 
hue. Let me but sample their flavor, and I will 
hereafter hold thee dearer than my best customer 
that comes to the Mermaid Tavern. 

(Mrs. Davenant appears at the door at left ; 
Will at the door at right. They signal to each 
other. Mrs. Cripps signals to Mrs. Davenant. 
Davenant does not see them. Will disappears.) 

Mrs. C. : But — Master Davenant — thy wife — 

Davenant : My wife ! Oh, fear not her. She 
has gone to her aunt's in Smithfield. Myself saw 
her safely start upon her road thither. 

Mrs. D. (aside): Here's a most unwholesome 
rogue ! 

( Alderman Cripps is heard without. ) 

Cripps (without): Hallo! House ho! 

Mrs. C. (in feigned alarm): Ods bobs ! As I 'm 
an honest woman, 't is my husband's voice ! 

Davenant : Thy husband ? What ill-fortune ! 
60 



Will Sjjakgpeare, a Comeog 

Mrs. C. : I must hide, or I am lost. (She runs 
off at right.) 

Davenant : Cripps comes to visit me, I doubt 
not. Mayhap 't were well if I hid too. I '11 watch 
the pitiful jackdaw from here. (He gets under a 
table up stage at left, from which place he observes 
what follows. Cripps enters at door centre, fol- 
lowed by Joan. He hums a tune, and looks about 
him with a self-satisfied air.) 

Joan (to Ckipps): Ods pitikinsl What a jest! 
Happy man ! Thou hast enchanted her. But what 
a monstrous fool is her husband ! 

Cripps (chuckling): My dear, there have been 
fools with a grain of wit, and wits with a load of 
folly ; but this fellow from top to toe is plain fool. 

Davenant (aside, looking from under the ta- 
ble) : So some other is a fool beside himself. 

Joan : But art thou not ashamed with thy coz- 
ening tricks to make so fair a dame so wretchedly 
in love with thee ? 

Davenant (aside)'. Now what dame would love 
that suit of rusty armor ? 

Cripps (conceitedly) : Dost think she loves me, 
then? 

61 



Joan : Loves thee ? Why, she babbles of thee 
by the hour. Fie on thee, Alderman, thou art a 
dangerous man. As for me, 111 be quit of thee at 
once. Deceiver ! (She goes out at the centre door.) 

Cripps : Now for my charmer. (Mrs. Daven- 
aktt enters at L. She stands in such a way that 
Davenastt cannot see her face.) Here she is ! Ha! 
'T is new morning, for the sun rises to my dazzled 
eyes. Loveliest fair alive, behold at thy feet Tim- 
othy Cripps, draper of Friday street and Alderman 
of London. 

(Mrs. Cripps appears at door right, unobserved 
by Cripps but seen by Mrs. Davenant, who sig- 
nals to her aside.) 

Mrs. Cripps {aside) : Oh, the unrighteous knave ! 

(Mrs. Davenant stands demurely with eyes 
downcast while Cripps tries to kiss her hand.) 

Davenant (under tJie table, tries to see the face 
of Mrs. Davenant. Aside) : Were not my wife 
in Smithfield with her aunt I would call that her 
gown. 

Cripps : Come ; what word of greeting hast for 
thy most fond and worshipping draper of Friday 
street ? 

62 



Mrs. Davenajstt : Alack ! Men be ever such 
deceivers. 

Cripps : So am not I. I do assure thee my love 
is of the best nap and warranted not to fade. No 
poor fabric am I. Oh, exquisite lady, an thou dost 
not take me, I must needs lie on the shelf like a 
miserable remnant whose fashion is out of date. 

Davenant (aside, much interested) : Damme! 
I cannot see her face. 

Cripps : Prithee turn not away those lustrous 
eyes. That poor churl, thy husband, heedeth not 
their brightness ; but to me they are sun, moon, and 
stars. Come ; let me but have thy hand to kiss. 
(He is about to hiss her hand. She moves away, 
and in changing her position turns her face toward 
Davenant.) 

Davenant (aside) : Od 's zookers ! My wife ! 
(He hits his head against the side of the table.) 

(Mrs. Cripps is heard off stage at right.) 

Mrs. Cripps (without)-. By'r lady, now! I 
will go in, I say. 

Mrs. Davenant (in affected fear) : Oh ! On 
my troth ! Here 's your wife coming, and if she 
finds us I 'm undone. (She runs off at left.) 

63 



ill ^ijakspeare, a (EmnetJg 

Cripps : My wife ! Here 's a to-do ! Where 's 
to hide ? Ha ! (He hides behind the door at centre.) 

Davenant (aside, still under the table): Pray 
heaven his wife be the instrument of my vengeance ! 
(Comes from under the table.) He 's gone. She has 
frightened him away. (Calls.) Ho, Mistress 
Cripps, where art thou, sweet one ? 

Cripps (coming from behind the door) : So so ! 
Thou wouldst rob me of my wife? 

Davenant : And thou wouldst carry away 
mine ? Take that ! 

Cripps: And thou that! (They fight, each 
afraid of the other. Joan enters at the centime 
door.) 

Joan: In pity's name, peace! Ye are both 
most infamously deceived. 

Cripps : Ay, deceived are we, in good sooth. 

Joan : But not as ye'think. Mistress Daven- 
ant is not here to meet you, Master Cripps ; nor is 
Mistress Cripps here to meet you, Master Daven- 
ant. They come to keep appointments with two 
young gallants to you unbeknown. 

Davenant : Oh, monstrous ! Brother, we are 
undone ! 

Cripps (dolefully) : Brother, we are two dis- 

64 



W&iill Sfjakgpeare, a Comeog 

mally wronged husbands. (They embrace each 
other sympathetically.) 

Joan : Ay, that are ye ; but myself will help 
you to just vengeance. These two gallants are two 
feeble, puny boys. Ye shall stay, be concealed, 
rush forth and crack their pates for 'em. 

Davenant: Nay, but art sure they are very 
puny? 

Cripps: I have no mind to deal with broad- 
shouldered swashbucklers. 

Joan: Oh, ay; I've seen them together often 
enow. They be weaklings ; no such fine men as 
ye. You can beat them with your hands tied. 

Davenant: Why, then, if they be weaklings, 
you shall see how a Davenant avenges his honor. 

Cripps: Ay, and a Cripps — if they be puny 
enow. 

Joan : They '11 be here anon. Under the table, 
Master Davenant ! 

Davenant (rubbing his head) : Nay, not I. 

Joan : Thou, then, Master Cripps ! 

Cripps : Ay, I 'm for it. Where 's my cudgel ? 
(Takes a stout stick and goes under the table at t/ie 
left side up stage.) 

Joan : And thou — let me see — in the clock ! 

65 



roil Sjjakgpeare, a Conutig 

Davenant : 'Tis most fit. I '11 have a stick too. 
(He takes a cane and goes in the clock, up stage at 
the right.) 

Joan : Now will I lead these two naughty dames 
into the trap. Their gallants can ye merrily baste 
to your sport and profit. 

Davenant (looking from the clock) : Baste 
them ? I '11 crush them to powder ! But — Joan — 
thou art sure they are puny ? 

Joan: Ye can blow them away like mustard 
seed. (She goes to door at left. ) Hist, Mistress 
Davenant! Mistress Cripps! All's clear! (Off 
at centre door.) 

(Mrs. Davenant and Mrs. Cripps enter.) 

Mrs. D. (aside) : Will has planned all most 
deftly. Now for the last chapter of the lesson. 
(Calls.) Joan! Joan! 

(Joan enters.) 

Joan (with affected demur eness): Yes, Mistress. 

Mrs. D. : Art sure my husband 's gone ? 

Joan : Ay, I warrant you. Master Cripps har- 
ried him hence, and he dare not show his nose here 
to-day, I '11 wager. 

Mrs. Cripps : And mine ? 

Joan ; Master Cripps ? F faith, I have sent him 
66 



TOtll &fjakspeare, a Cornells 

to the tavern of the Rose and Crown, bidding him 
wait for thee there. 

Davenant (aside): By Ananias ! A woman 's a 
natural liar. 

Mrs. D. : Begone, then, to fetch supper. 

Joan: For four — as usual — Mistress? (Winks.) 

Mrs. D. : For four, as usual. 

(Davenant and Cripps furious. Mrs. D. goes 
to door at left.) 

Mrs. D. : Come in, Captain Saddletree ! 

Davenant (aside) : Here come the puny weak- 
lings! 

(Enter Will Shakspeare as a soldier, led by 
Joan, who points to the clock slyly. Shakspeare 
signifies that he understands. He is heavily armed, 
and presents a ferocious appearance ; his face dis- 
guised.) 

Will : By the sword of Caesar, my heart ! thou 
hast kept me waiting an unconscionable time. 
(Throws a huge pistol upon the table. Davenant 
and Cripps alarmed.) 

Mrs. D. : Ay, but my husband — thou knowest — 

Will (swaggering): Ay, I know. Old blasted 
oak ! Were it not better to hack him down at once ? 
(Makes passes with a sword.) 

67 



OTtll Sfjakspeare, a GTonucg 

Cripps (aside): Gadzooks! I hope my fellow 
be punier. 

Will: But come, my mouse, let's to supper. 
By the sword of Caesar ! A duello has put a point 
to my appetite like a Spanish dagger. I have just 
come from killing my twelfth man. 

Davenant (aside, alarmed): Alack! and they 
say thirteen 's an unlucky number. 

(Joan serves supper.) 

Will (to Mrs. C. ): And where is thy fond Don 
Alonzo Matadoro? 

Mrs. Cripps : Truly, I cannot say, but I expect 
him soon. (A knock.) Oh, if it should be my hus- 
band! 

Will (going to the door): Who's there? 

Burbage (without): 'Tis I, Richard the Third. 

Will : Sayst thou so, crook-back ? Well, Will- 
iam the Conqueror came before Richard the Third. 

Burbage (without, threateningly): Let me en- 
ter, or by my ancestors' crimes, I '11 break thy sconce ! 

Cripps : Egad, that is no puling voice. But now 
for 't. (He crawls partly from under the table.) 

(Burbage enters as a Spanish cavalier, heav- 
ily armed and savage-looking, his face disguised. 

68 



TOU ^fjakspearf, a Comrtig 

Cripps looks at Burbage, is terrified, and crawls 
under the table again.) 

Mrs. C {with feigned joy): At last, at last! 
My dear — {Aside to Will) : What 's his name ? 

Will {aside): Don Alonzo Matadoro; other- 
wise my crony, Dick Burbage. 

Burbage: Ha! Senora, a Spanish cavalier 
kisses thy hand. Right glad am I to see thy face 
once more, Sefiora ; by my sword's victims, I am 
glad! 

Mrs. D. : Come, sirs, to supper. 

Burbage : Ay, for I have three duels to fight, 
and must keep up my strength. 

Cripps {aside)-. The carnage-monger J Who 
called this savage puny? 

(Davenant laughs aside at Cripps. Mrs. D. 
and Mrs. C, with Will and Burbage, sit at 
table at right.) 

Mrs. D.: Joan ! 

Joan: Ay, Mistress. 

Mrs. D.: Is this wine the rarest and oldest in 
Master Davenant's bins ? 

Joan : Ay, marry is it. He hath but three bot- 
tles more, and they are as three rosy children to 

him. 

6 9 



TOtll Stfjafcgpeare, a Cornet^ 

Will: 'Tis well, Joan; we are accustomed to 
the rarest. 

Mrs. D.: Fetch those three bottles, Joan. 

(Davenant groans. Will and Burbage drink 
the wine rap idly.) 

Will (to Mrs. D.) : Is 't true, most fair, that 
thou hast for husband a whining simpleton, a fellow 
with no more fire in him than a cold porridge? 

Mrs. D.: Indeed, I have heard said he is of that 
description. 

Will: By Caesar's sandals, 'tis well he is not 
here. My sword is five feet long, and never misses 
the vitals. {Brandishes his siuord.) 

(Joan enters with three bottles.) 

Burbage : Ha ! Here 's the ancient vintage ! 

Will (breaking the neck of a bottle and pour- 
ing out wine) : Here 's to bright eyes and ruddy 
lips ; thine especially, sweet Mistress Davenant. 
(All drink.) 

Davenant (aside): Each drop takes a beat from 
my heart. 

Will : Here, pretty Joan, take this bottle and 
pour it in a pail for my horse. (Gives Joan a bot- 
tle. She goes off with it. Davenant is pros- 
trated.) How sayest thou, Captain, is not Dame 

70 



Will ^ijakspeare, a Cometig 

Davenant the superfinest lady that England can 
produce ? 

Burbage: What! Carramba! Shall I fore- 
swear Mistress Cripps ! Go to ! I bite my thumb 
at you. 

Will: What! Spanish rogue! you insult an 
English soldier? Down on thy Papist marrow- 
bones and ask pardon of Mistress Davenant! 

Burbage: Never! Forth my sword! Thou 
hast work. 

(Both pretend to be furious; Mrs. D. and Mrs. 
C. in feigned alarm.) 

Mrs. Davenant: Good Captain Saddletree, 
prithee let there be no blood shed ! 

Mrs. Cripps : Oh, sirs ! I beseech you — my 
reputation — 

Burbage: Charge, Excaliboro! (Kisses his 
sword.) Death to all Englishmen in this room ! 

Davenant (aside) : To all, he says. 

Will : Come on I An thou wert the Spanish 
Armada, myself should be the storm to sink thee ! 

(They fight ivith great assumption of fury. 
Will pursues Burbage, who falls against the 
table under which Cripps is hidden. The table is 
knocked down, revealing Cripps. Mrs. Daven- 

7' 



Will j&fjafcspeare, a Comelig 

ant and Mrs. Cripps scream in affected terror.) 

Will : So thou hast a confederate ? Good ! I '11 
despatch him first. [Threatens Cripps.) 

Cripps: Stop! I'm no confederate. Spare 
me! Have mercy! 

Mrs. C: Alack-a-day ! He 's my husband. 

Burbage : Thy husband ? Then is he guiltier 
in my eyes than if he had blasted crops by witch- 
craft. For this, 't is i" will slay him ! ( He threat- 
ens Cripps, wlw grovels.) 

Cripps : Spare me, gentlemen ! [To Mrs. 
Cripps.) Oh, miserable woman ! 

[The clock strikes rajpidly and loudly. All tmm 
and look at the clock, in which Davexant appears. 
frightened.) 

Will: Why, here's another of thine allies! 

Burbage : Nay, an Englishman is no friend of 
mine ! 

Davenant : Softly, I beg, gentlemen both. An 
there has been any quarrel, I do know naught of 
it, for lo, for an hour I have been sound asleep. 

All: Asleep! (All laugh aside.) 

Will : A thief ! A thief, who waits for dark to 
do his work of darkness. (Davenaxt emerges.) 
Dost know him, Mistress ? Is he not here to steal ? 

7 2 



Will Sfjakspeate, a Cometig 

Mrs. D. : Know him ? Ay, soothly do I ; he 's 
my husband. 

Will : Thy husband ? By Caesar's sandals ! Fair 
dame, I '11 straight unhusband thee. 

Davenant {falling on his knees): Mercy ! Take 
my wine — my wife — but spare my life ! (To Mrs. 
Davenant.) Oh, thou jade! How couldst thou 
deceive so good a husband? 

Cripps (to Mrs. Cripps) : And thou, intriguer, 
was not thy husband a statue of fidelity? yet — oh 
fie, fie ! 

(Will and Burbage are up stage laughing 
aside.) 

Mrs. D. (to Davenant) : Softly, husband ! I 
have a word to say. Didst not send me to my 
aunt's that thou mightest come here to meet Mis- 
tress Cripps? 

Mrs* C (to Cripps): Didst not tell me thou 
wert to visit thy cousin Ebenezer? Is this thy 
cousin Ebenezer? (Points to Mrs. Davenant.) 

Davenant : My sweeting, thou art most wof ully 
deceived in me ; I — 

Cripps : I '11 be pilloried if ever I spake word 
of love to Mistress Davenant. 

Mrs. C: What! (Mocking at Cripps): Oh, 

73 



OTtli &jjafcspeare, a QLtimzty 

exquisite Mistress Davenant ! an thou dost not take 
me, I must needs lie upon the shelf like a miserable 
remnant whose fashion is out of date. 

(Cripps and Davenant look at each other in 
amazement. Will and Burbage, up stage, laugh 
at them. ) 

Mrs. D. : I told Mistress Cripps of her husband, 
and she told me of thee. We have served ye as ye 
deserved. 

Davenant : But these — these puny weaklings ? 

Mrs. D. : What ! dost not know thy friend Will 
Shakspeare ? 

Will : By the sword of Caesar ! 1 11 not know 
him! At him, my blade! {Playfully threatens 
Davenant. ) 

Burbage : And dost not know thy debtor, Dick 
Burbage ? Troth, I owe thee enow for Canary for 
thee to know me in any guise. 

Will: Faith, this is too good! This must I 
straightway make into a play ; and you, Davenant 
and Cripps, shall play in it under your veritable 
names. It will be a jest for all London and a nine 
days' wonder of merriment. 

Cripps: What! Wouldst ruin my trade? 

14 



til ^fjakgaxare, a Ccmetog 

Will (to Davenant and Cripps) : You shall 
both be held up to plenteous scorn. I will deny 
myself this jest but upon one condition. 

Davenant : Name it, sweet Willy, name it. 

Will : Know, then, that we have need of Mis- 
tress Davenant at the theatre. Since she married 
thee and left us, none has played the queens and 
dowagers so well. Now let her be a boy for the 
nonce, and join us to play in our new tragedy. 

Davenant : Nay, I like not the thought. Those 
theatre gallants — 

Will : To them she will be but a goodly youth, 
and myself will be surety for her safety. 

Davenant : No ! I say — I '11 never consent 
to it. 

Burbage (aside to Mrs. Davenant) : Then you 
must make an excuse for absence, and come to us 
at all hazards. Our knowledge of this adventure 
will keep his rage within bounds. Remember, Ju- 
dith, we depend upon you. 

(Sir Thomas Lucy and Jabez enter. ) 

Will: And now, friends, Dick Burbage and I 
must quit you. We must to the theatre. 

Sir Thomas (who with Jabez has watched the 

15 



Will Sijaksjieare, a Comefcg 

others from up stage) : Hast thou arranged to sig- 
nal to the watch, Jabez? (This aside). 

Jabez (going to window at left ; aside) : Ay, 
from this window. They wait without. 

Will (taking tlie bottle) : A parting glass, 
friends ! 

Davenant (aside) : Oh, my wine, my wine! 

(They clink their cups. Ben Jonson is heard 
without.) 

Jonson (without): Will Shakspeare ! Will! 
Will! 

Will: Who calls? 

(Enter Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Sib Walter, 
Fletcher, Cotton, and Barnaby, at centre door.) 

Jonson (as he enters) : Will ! Thy head is in 
danger ! 

Will : Come, Ben ; thou lookest as if thine own 
were none too safe — inside. What's the pother? 

Jonson : *T is charged outright that thou art a 
conspirator, and thyself hast undertaken to kill Her 
Majesty the Queen. 

Will: Nay; 'tis not artful enough. (Laughs.) 
This is one of Ben Jonson's jests. Its ring is 
brazen. 

Fletcher : No, no, 't is true ! Some one has 

76 



TOtll &|)afegp*are, a C0nutJ£ 

denounced thee. Even now the watch waits with- 
out. 

Will: Tis most strange. 

Jonson : Less strange than perilous. But, Will 
Shakspeare, though thou knowest little Latin and 
less Greek, I am a soldier and I stand by friends. 
If the watch come for thee, the first shall meet my 
sword's point. 

Sir Walter : And mine ! 

All : And mine ! (All draw swords.) 

Sir Thomas : Grammercy ! There '11 be a fight. 
Would I were back in Stratford ! 

Jabez : Nay, we 're on the stronger side. Here 's 
for the signal. (He signals from tlie window at 
left. The Captain of the Watch appears in the 
window.) 

Captain : Is the bird here ? To the door, my 
men ! (He leaps in at the window and draws his 
sword. ) Which of you is called Shakspeare ? 

Will : I am William Shakspeare. 

Captain : Then, sirrah, I arrest you ! 

Will : And what is the charge against me ? 

Captain: A conspiracy to kill our Sovereign 
Lady, Queen Elizabeth. 

77 



TOll &fjafc0peare, a Comeog 

Will: This is folly, I am her Majesty's most 
beholden subject. 

Jonson: Ay; the uneducated fellow is right 
loyal j and, if thou dost take him, 'twill be with this 
sword's protest. (He threatens the Captain.) 

Fletcher : TJwu art not enough to take him. 

Captain: We'll see as to that. (He goes to 
the door at centre.) What ho, comrades ! The cul- 
prit has mates here. Enter, all of ye ! 

(The watchmen enter at the centre door.) 

Will : What mystery is this ? 

Sir Thomas (coming forward with Jabez) : 
Mystery me no mysteries. (To the watchmen.) 
There is your man. Take him ! 

Captain: Seize the ruffian. 

(The watchmen are about to seize Will. Jon- 
son, Fletcher, and the others surround hi?n f with 
drawn swords.) 

Will : Stop, friends ! This were vain. You 
will but put your own heads on the block. Soothly it 
is very like that I, Will Shakspeare, a poor player, 
should leave off making kings to unmake queens. 
(Laughs.) This is pretty foolery. What! D'ye 
think I have a mind to sit on a throne myself? 

78 



(Laughs. ) Nay, by my soul. I may rule the Globe, 
but I have no yearning to rule England. 

Sir Thomas : Peace, thou most tolerable traitor ! 

Will : And so 't is thou who hast done me this 
despite ! So thou canst not forget thy deer and his 
spreading antlers? Thou hast not forgotten — 
(sings) 

* If Lucy be lucy as some folk miscall it, 
Then sing lucy Lucy, whatever befall it.' 

All {singing mockingly) : 

* If Lucy be lucy as some folk miscall it, 
Then sing lucy Lucy, whatever befall it.' 

Will: Friends, I leave him to you, and see 
that you are prodigal heirs. Cast this legacy to 
the four winds. Ben, crack his sconce for him; 
whether in Greek or Latin I care not. Ah, com- 
rades, if my head breaks friendship with my shoul- 
ders, it will take with it many plays unwrit ; but of 
that, what matter ? Why, there are too many now. 
Sirrah, to the gaol ! and I '11 abide the issue. Friends, 
remember Will Shakspeare's heart is with you. Sir 
Thomas, worthy Jabez, my blessing. Lead on, Cap- 
tain, lead on. 

(Shakspeare is arrested and led away, after 

79 



Will Sfjafcspeare, a Cometjg 

taking leave of his comrades, who bid him farewell. 
Burbage makes a sign to Shakspeare, who shows 
that he understands its significance. As Will is 
led to the centre door, the curtain falls.) 



THE END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



80 



Will Sjjakspeare, a (fomrtig 



ACT III. 

1 As an unperfect actor on the stage, 
Who with his fear is put besides his part.' 

— Shakspeabe's Sonnet XXIII. 

' Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there, 
And made myself a motley to the view.' 

— Shakspeare's Sonnet CX. 

The Scene is the stage of the Globe Theatre on the Bank- 
side. When the drop-curtain is raised, a dark cloth 
curtain dividing in the centre is discovered, in front of 
which are several candles burning, which are supposed 
to serve for lighting the theatre. A roll of drums is 
heard behind the curtain. A servant appears, carrying 
a trumpet. 

Servant: Hear ye, gentles of the court and 
citizens of London. In a half-hour the play will 
begin wherewith it shall be our pains to please ye. 
This is the second sounding of the trumpet. 

(He blows upon the trumpet, and then disappears 
behind the curtain, which presently is drawn apart. 
Several gallants and wealthy citizens are discov- 
ered grouped at the right and left forward corners 
of the stage ; some seated on stools, others standing. 
Sir Algernon and Sir Archibald, two fops, are 
seated at the left side playing dice. Doll o' the 
Fortune goes about offering ballads for sale. Mar- 

81 



TOtll Sjjakspeare, a Cometig 

gery peddles apples and oranges. Several of the 
auditors on the stage smoke pipes. At the hack is 
a painted drop representing a castle at night. A 
platform before this. Dark cloth curtains hang 
at right and left, with openings at the centre of 
each.) 

Sir Algernon : A plague of all citizens, say I. 
Marry ! 't is impossible a gentleman should keep 
his rights to sit upon the stage when any grocer's 
'prentice or vile sailor who steals a shilling may buy 
his place beside you. 

Sir Archibald: Od's my heart! 'tis most 
shamefast, and not to be endured. 

Doll o' the Fortune : Buy a ballad, my lord? 
Wilt learn the new jovial song of ' My Lady Green- 
sleeves ? ' * 

Sir Archibald : Od's my heart ! Pretty Dolly, 
what should I do with a-ballad? 

Doll : Why, sing thyself to sleep with it, or pin 
it on the wall, or do up thy curls with it. 

Sir Archibald : Nay, I 'm not for ballads now. 
(Doll offers ballads to others.) But what's this 
new play, this ' Hamlet ' ? Is 't merry ? 

* The ' NewNortherne Dittye of the Lady of the Greensleeves,' men- 
tioned in ■ The Merry Wives of Windsor. ' 

82 



TOtll Sfjakgptate, a Cornet^ 

Sir Algernon : If it be that of the same name 
I saw at the Curtain ten years agone, it is as merry 
a funeral as the plague e'er saw. 

Margery : Buy an apple, sir ? 

Sir Archibald: Nay, mouse, not now. By 
and by, may be. 

Sir Algernon: An thou dost love murders, 
thou shalt see them plenteously now, I promise thee. 

Sir Archibald: I'm glad of that. I love a 
murder monstrously. By my f ackins ! a play with- 
out murders is a dish of meat without salt. (Casts 
dice.) Six — deuce ! 

Doll : Didst call me to buy a ballad, sir ? 

Sir Algernon : Let us hear one. An I like it, 
I will buy. 

Doll : Eh, then ; here 's a stave or two. 

Sottg. 
doll o' the fortune. 
Under the trees where the pippins grow, 

I'm bound to be every morning; 
There once on a time came Robin the rogue, 

Who kissed me with never a warning; 
And it's * Will you be mine,' quoth he, quoth he; 

« For love I am like to die-a.' 
Quoth I, ' I '11 never wed Robin the rogue, 
Who kisses upon the sly-a.' 

83 



£HiH Sfjakspravc, a Camcon 

But heigho ! Whether or no, 
The breeze is soft i' the morning. 

Kiss me again before I go, 

Under the trees where the pippins grow; 
But see that you give me warning ! 

Under the trees where the pippins grow, 

Through half of the day I tarry; 
A' thinking of winsome Robin the rogue, 

And making mv mind to roarrv. 
'I love you; marry me, sweet/ quoth he, 

And may be I will by and by-a; 
Yet, after a year, will Robin the rogue 

Kiss Moll o' the Mill on the sly-a ? 

But heigho ! Whether or no, 

The breeze is soft r the morning. 
Kiss me again before I go, 
Under the trees where the pippins grow; 

But see that you give me warning ! 

{After the song. Master Davenaxt. Jabez 
Qctrk, and Sir Thomas Lucy enter.) 

Davexast (to servant) : Three stools, boy, for 
these gentlemen and myself. 

Servant : Three stools will be three shillings, 
sir. 

Sir Thomas : I beseech you, let me be at charge 
for it. 

. 84 



til Sfjafegpeate, a (foimetig 

Jabez (with reluctance) : Nay, I will pay. 

Davenant : Be at ease. This is at my expense. 
Since my wife hath gone to Stratford to visit thy 
family, Sir Thomas, why, I may as well have a lit- 
tle merry-making as a bachelor. 

Jabez: Verily, this is a temple of Belial. 
Thank Heaven there are no Christians here to see 
me, so I may stay for a sneaking festivity ; yea, 
verily, as I am an honest man. 

Sir Thomas : Be at ease, good Jabez. Since 
that arrant knave Shakspeare is in gaol, there will 
be none here to recognize us. 

Doll: Pray, gentlemen, buy some oranges? 

Jabez: Nay, get thee hence, daughter of Lu- 
cifer ! 

Davejsant : Tut, neighbor, dost not see she is 
comely? Come hither, sweeting. Do thy kisses 
go with thine apples ? 

Doll: Nay, they go with my affections, and 
not in thy direction. 

(All laugh at Master Davenant.) 

Davenant : Come, then, give us the apples, and 
let the kisses go. 

Doll : Here, worshipful sir, three of my prim- 
est. But I will not let the kisses go — to thee. 

85 



OTtll Sfjakspeate, a Cometon 

Davenant: Thou pretty rogue! Take thou 
my heart. (Tries to kiss her.) 

Doll : And take thou my hand ! (Boxes his 
ears. All laugh at Davenant.) 

Sir Archibald : Well laid on, Dolly ! 

Sir Algernon : Neatly done, i' faith ! 

Davenant: Thou saucy harridan! (Enter 
Mrs. Davenant dressed as a boy, followed by 
Will Shakspeare and Tom Greene.) Od's bod- 
ikins, who 's this lad ? I '11 eat my hand an he be 
not as like my wife as twin to twin. Ha, boy ! 
How art thou called? 

Mrs. D. (showing tlmt she recognizes her hus- 
band but concealing her confusion) : How am I 
called? Why, by the call-boy, sir, when 'tis my 
time to go upon the stage. 

Davenant: Thou art a player, then? 

Mrs. D.: Ay, and^ have been these ten years. 
I play the queens and other lady-folk. 

Greene : And right famously, too. But get thee 
gone, Bertram, and don thy skirt and mantle. Thou 
hast none too much time. 

(Mrs. D., with a significant look at her hus- 
band, goes behind the curtain at the left. Greene 
and Will come forward to the centre. The others 

86 



TOll Sljakgpeare, a Cornet^ 

on the stage are engrossed in conversation aside. 
Sir Archibald and Sir Algernon continuing 
their game at dice.) 

Will : See, Tom, see ! The pit is filling up. 
We must begin soon, and Burbage is not yet come. 
Oh, 'tis villainous! 

Greene : But how did he contrive to take thy 
place in the Tower? 

Will : You know his skill in painting his face 
for the stage.* He came to my cell, bringing his box 
of colors and his wig-stuffs. He contrived to make 
me look his counterpart, while he painted Will 
Shakspeare on his own face. I escaped to finish 
the play. 

Greene : And Burbage ? 

Will: My Lord Southampton is laboring for 
his release. He should have been here ere now. 

Greene : We have no Hamlet, and the people 
wait. 

Sir Algernon: Come, Will Shakspeare, tor- 
ment us with thy play at once. 

Will : Anon, sir. Be not in haste to meet thy 
torment. Thou 'It have it soon enough. 

* Burbage painted pictures, and was responsible for one of the five 
authentic portraits of Shakspeare. 

8 7 



OTill Sljakspeate, a Cometig 

Greene : Cannot you play the prince, then ? 

Will: 'Tis I must do the Ghost. 

Greene : Let Burbage do the Ghost. He may 
be here in time for that. 

Will : It might serve. He has had leisure and 
solitude enough to learn the whole play. 

Greene : Try it, and play the Prince yourself, 
for the people will not wait much longer. 

Davenant : Come ! On with the play ! 

All : Ay, the play ! the play ! 

(Will and Greene retire up stage.) 

Doll: Apples, oranges, gentlemen! {Goes 
about offering her wares.) 

{Enter Thomas Kyd, a poet in rags.) 

Kyd (arrogantly) : A place, girl ! 

Doll : A shilling, man ! 

Kyd : Why, thou rogue, wouldst ask money 
from me? 

Doll : Ay, but get none, I '11 warrant. 

Kyd : There thou givest truth. I pay not for 
seeing plays. I am a poet, girl. 

Doll : By good rights, poets should pay double. 
A shilling, — else pay your penny and get you to 
the pit. 

Kyd : To a deeper pit, thou jade, do I consign 



thee ! Back, or die ! I '11 crush thee with my 
tragedy ! (Threatens ivith a roll of paper.) 

Will : Thou couldst fell an ox with it, Kyd, if 
it be as heavy as thy last comedy. Come, Tom, 
let *s make ready. I '11 play the Prince, and the 
Ghost must wait for Burbage. (They go off at left. 
A Cut-purse enters and takes his place at the right, 
watching an opportunity for theft.) 

Doll (to Kyd) : Buy a ballad, poet ? 

Kyd: Nay, I do not buy ballads, but make 
them. 

Doll : Wilt eat a juicy orange, then ? 

Kyd : Get thee away, damsel ! Away, I say ! 
or I shall fly at thee and steal thy fruit. I have 
eaten naught this day, and food is a plague to my 
eyes. 

Doll: So? then here's a pippin. (Gives him 
an apple.) 

Kyd: Sweetheart, I could marry thee for it. 
(Eats.) 

Doll: What! Marry me! And both of us 
live on ballads and pippins ? I cry thee mercy ! 
(Laughs at Kyd.) 

Kyd (aside) : Here will I muse upon mine own 
poesy till this trash of Shakspeare's doth begin. 

8 9 



WLill Sfjakgpeaw, a Cometig 

(Unrolls his manuscript and reads with evident 
admiration. Sir Archibald and Sir Algernon 
continue their dice-throwing. Enter Mrs. Cripps, 
Cripps, and Barnabt Bullock. ) 

Cripps : Places for us, boy ! 

D a ven ant {seeing Barnabt): What! My man 
Barnaby here ? Get you home, sirrah, and to your 
work ! 

Barnaby : Nay, master, let me see the play. I 
do love a play. ( Tliey sit. A servant enters. ) 

Servant : Masters, I crave silence for the Pro- 
logue. This is the third blast of the trumpet. (He 
blows a trumpet. Another servant enters and hangs 
on the flat at the back a sign, 'Ye Palace of Elsi- 
nore.' All on the stage are attentive. The serv- 
ants retire. Tlie Prologue enters.) 

Prologue : 

Ere we begin, that no man may repent 
Two shillings and his time, the author sent 
This Prologue. There are errors in his play 
That he confesses and dares not gainsay. 
But — worst and vilest fault — the story told 
Is one which some will find is passing old ; 
Still, like an ancient puppet newly clad, 
It may divert a lass and eke a lad. 
90 



ill Sljakgpeare, a CometJg 

Now that our general errors I have bared, 
If that your listening ears are well prepared 
To entertain the subject of our play, 
Lend us your patience. 

( Exit the Prologue. Enter Will Shakspeare 
as Hamlet.) 

Will: Citizens of London and nobles of the 
Court, I come to ask your sufferance. The Prince 
Hamlet, whose clothes I wear, is to be embodied by 
your well-beloved Burbage ; but he is late ; where- 
fore we '11 change our play somewhat, that I may 
do my best as the Prince, and he, if he arriveth 
soon, shall be the Ghost, my part. With all this 
disadvantage, we'll proceed. 

(Enter Horatio and Marcellus.)* 

Horatio: Health to your lordship ! 

Hamlet: I am very glad to see you, Horatio, or I 

much forget myselfe. 
Horatio: The same, my lord, and your poore seruant 

euer. 
Hamlet: my good friend, I change that name with 

you. 
But what is your affaire in Elsinoure ? 

* As Shakspeare says in the preceding speech, the actors change the 
play somewhat. I have followed the text, orthography, and punctua- 
tion of the first edition of Hamlet. 

91 



ill i&jjakgpeare, a Coutetog 

Horatio: A trowant disposition, my good lord. 

Hamlet: I would not haue your enemy say so, 
Nor shall you make mee truster 
Of your owne report against yourself e. 
Sir, I know you are no trowant: 
But what is your affaire in Elsinoure ? 

Horatio: My good lord, I came to see your father's 
funerall. 

Hamlet: I prethee do not mocke mee fellow stu- 
dient, 
I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Horatio : Indeede my lord, it followed hard vpon. 

Hamlet: Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funerall bak't 
meates 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables ; 
Would I had met my deerest foe in Heauen 
Ere ever I had seene that day, Horatio; 

my father, my father, me thinks I see my 

father. 
Horatio: Where my lord? 
Hamlet: Why in my minde's eye, Horatio. 
Horatio: I saw him once"; he was a gallant King. 
Hamlet: He was a man, take him for all in all, 

1 shall not look vpon his like againe. 
Horatio: My lord, I thinke I saw him yesternight. 
Hamlet: Saw who ? 

Horatio: My lord, the King, your father. 

Hamlet: The King, my father ? 

Horatio: Ceasen your admiration for a while, 

92 



TOtil &fjaks:peare, a Cometog 

With an attentiue eare, till I may deliuer, 
Vpon the witnesse of these Gentlemen 
This wonder to you. v 

Hamlet: For God's loue, let me hear it. 

Horatio: Two nights together had these Gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
In the dead vast and middle of the night 
Been thus incountered by a figure like your 

father, 
And I with them the third night kept the 

watch 
Where as they had deliuered forme of the 

thing 
Each part made true and good, 
The apparition comes : I knew your father, 
The hands are not more like. 

Hamlet: T is very strange. 

Horatio: As I do Hue my honord lord, 'tis true. 

Hamlet: Where was this ? 

Horatio: My lord, vpon the platforme where we 
watched. 

Hamlet: Did you not speake to it ? 

Horatio: My lord we did, but answere made it none. 
The morning cocke crew lowd, and in all haste 
It shrunke in haste away and vanished 
Our sight. 

Hamlet: Indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. I would 
I had beene there. 

Horatio: It would have much amazed you. 

93 



Utfl JSfjafcepeare, a Comrtig 

Hamlet: Yea, very like, very like. Staid it long ? 
Horatio: While one with moderate pace might tell a 

hundred. 
Marcf.t j.tjs : Oh, longer, longer. 

Ktd (interrupting): Nay, say two hundred, 
then. There 's too much cackle here, methinks. 

The Audience : Silence ! Put out the fellow ! 
Go on ! Go on ! 

Hamlet : I will watch to-night, perchance 't will walke 
againe. 

Horatio: I warrant it will. 

Hamlet : If it assume my noble father's person, 

He speak to it, if hell itselfe should gape 
And bid me hold my peace; Gentlemen, 
If you haue hitherto concealed this sight 
Let it be terrible in your silence still, 
And whatsoeuer else shall chance to-nighte 
Giue it an vnderstanding but no tongue ; 
I will requit your loues, so fare you well; 
Ypon the platform twixt eleuen and twelue 
He visit you. 

Sik Thomas (interrupting) : Troth, must we 
wait till eleven or twelve ? 

Barnaby : Marry, 't is but four and a bit now. 

Horatio and Marcellus: Our duties to your honor. 
(Exeunt.) 

94 



til ^fjakspeare, a (Eomebg 

Hamlet: Oh your loues, your loues as mine to you. 
Farewell. My father's spirit in Armes, 
Well, all's not well. I doubt some foule play. 

Kyd (interrupting): Which foul play was by 
Will Shakspeare writ. 

Hamlet: Would the night were come. 

Kyd (interrupting): Ay, and the new play over. 
Hamlet: Till then, sit still my soule. 

Kyd : But not thine audience. 

Hamlet: Foule deeds will rise 

Though all the world orewhelme them to 
men's eies. (Exit.) 

Kyd : Why, what manner of lunacy is this ? So 
much talk, and no killing ! 

Doll: Ballads! Oranges! Apples! (A Cav- 
alier calls her ; she runs and sells him an apple.) 

Sir Archibald : Out on such a prosy play, say I ! 

Sir Algernon : Come, come ! A killing or a 
clown. Let 's have more sport ! 

(Shakspeare appears.) 

Will : An it like ye, gentlemen, we shall have 
more bloodshed as the play moves onward. As for 

95 



ill Sfjakspeate, a Cometig 

thee, Thomas Kyd, an thou dost not keep silence, 
I'll tempt thee to leave the theatre. 

Kyd : How couldst thou tempt me to leave an I 
chose to stay ? 

Will: Marry, by giving thee a copper to run 
and get thee something to eat. We '11 on with the 
play, and beware, thou Kyd, else I '11 call a goat to 
butt thee from the stage! (Exit Will.) 

( Enter a servant, tuho removes the placard and 
puts up another, i Ye House of Olde Corambis.' ) * 

Barnaby: Prithee, what manner of place is 
this? I am a workman, and I read as little as I 
write. 

Sir Thomas : The house of Corambis, as I make 
it out. 

Barnaby : And who may Corambis be ? 

Davenant : Tush, Barnaby Bullock ! We '11 see 
anon. 

(Enter Condell as Laertes and Mrs. Dav- 
enant as Ophelia. ) 

Sir Algernon : I' f ackins, yon youth makes a 
handsome girl ! 

Davenant : Now, by the rood, that youth must 
be my Judith. 

* Corambis was originally the name of Polonius. 

9 6 



OTtll &fjak*prare, a Cornet^ 

Sir Archibald : Ay, right comely ! 

Davenant: 'Tis my wife, surely. Get thee 
home, thou traipsing jade ! 

Kyd : Silence, churl ! Let the boy alone. 

Davenant: Boy? I say 'tis my wife! Go 
home, Judith ! Go home ! 

All : Villainous ! Silence him ! Out with him ! 
He 's mad. 

{Two servants enter and quiet Davenant. ) 

Laertes: My necessaries are imbarkt, I must aboord; 
But ere I parte, marke what I say to thee. 
I see Prince Hamlet makes a shew of loue ; 
Beware, Ofelia, do not trust his vowes, 
Vertue itself e scapes not calumnious thoughts. 

Davenant: Good young man, I thank thee. 
Listen to the young man, Judith, and go home. 

Laertes {speaking to the audience): Will no 
one silence this mad man ? 

Sir Algernon: Ay, marry, will we! (Sir 
Archibald and Sir Algernon throttle Davenant 
and mount guard over him.) 

Mrs. Davenant (as Ophelia): 

I shall the effect of this good lesson keepe 
As watchman to my heart. 

97 



£23 til SJjafcspcarr, a Ccnutog 

Dayexa^t: An 'tis not Judith's voice, mine 
ears are roaring sea-shells. 

Ofelia: But deere my brother, do not you 
Like to a cunning sophist er, 
Teach me the path and ready way to heauen, 
"While you forgetting what is said to me, 
Yourselfe, like to a carelesse libertine, 
Him self e the primrose path of dalliance 

treads 
And recks not his own rede. 

Laertes : No, f eare it not, my deere Ofelia, 

Here comes my father; occasion smiles upon 
A second leave. 

{Enter Gkeexe as Corambis. ) 

Corambis: Yet here, Laertes? Aboord, aboord, for 
shame; 
The winde sits in the shoulder of your saile, 
And you are staid for ; there my blessing 
with thee. * * * 
Laertes : I humbly take my leave, farewell Ofelia, 

And remember well what I have said to you. 
Ofelia: It is already lock't within my hart 

And you yourselfe shall keepe the key of it. 

[Exit Greexe as Laertes.) 

Corambis: "What is't, Ofelia, he hath saide to you? 
Ofelia: Something touching the Prince Hamlet. 

98 



TOIl Styakspeare, a C0mrt»g 

CORAMBIS: Marry, well bethought. 

'Tis told me he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you ; and you yourself e 
Have of your audience beene most free and 
bounteous. 

Davenant : What ! My wife giving audience 
to that strange fellow ? Od's life ! Let me catch 
him at it ! 

Corambis: What is betweene you? Give me up the 

truth. 
Ofelia: My lord, he hath made many tenders of his 

loue to me. 

Davenant : The villain ! And he knew thee to 
be married, too ! 

Sir Archibald : Silence, rogue ! 

Corambis: Tenders, I, I, tenders you may call them. 
Ofelia: And withal such earnest vowes — 
Corambis: Springes to catch woodcocks. 

What, do not I know when the blood doth 

burne 
How prodigal the tongue lends the heart 

vowes. 
In briefe, be more scanter of your maiden 

presence, 
Or tendering thus you '11 tender mee a foole. 
Ofelia : I shall obey, my lord. (Exit.} 

99 



1 "9fQ 



TOU Sfjafcspeare, a Cornet^ 

Davenant: I thank thee, old man, for giving 
her such good counsel. Oh, monstrous ! First to 
come here as a youth in unshamefast garh, and 
then to so take on with a Prince that even strange 
old men admonish her ! 

Kyd {turning to Davenant): Surely the play 
has made this fat man mad. 

Davenant: Nay, 'tis hut the homely truth. 
This lady is no lad, no player, but my wife. 

Kyd : The more fool thou. Why not seize her 
and go thy way? 

{The Cut-purse, who has been trying to steal 
from Sir Thomas, is detected by him.) 

Sir Thomas : My purse ! Thieves ! Thieves ! 

Jabez: That's the rascal! I saw him do it. 
Seize him ! 

The Audience ! A Cut-purse ! A gallows-bird ! 
Away with him ! Nay, tie him on the stage. Pelt 
him! (Etc., etc.) 

Cut-purse : Nay, gentles, I beseech you — 

{Two servants of the theatre rush upon the 
stage, seize the Cut-purse, and tie him to a pillar at 
the right side of the stage. The audience on the 
stage pelt him with apple-cores and orange-peel,) 

JOO 



Mill Sfjakspeare, a Cotnrtg 

Ktd : Heaven be praised ! At last we have a lit- 
tle crime in this dull play. 

Davenant : I '11 warrant you that my man 
Barnaby can out-play the best of these fellows. 

Barnaby: Ay, let me but try it! (He comes 
forward and recites in burlesque fashion): 

1 Sometimes I go about and poison wells, 
And with young orphans plant I hospitals; 
Yea, every moon make some or other mad.' 

Kyd : Bravo ! That 's the true ring ! That 's 
Kit Marlowe's. 

Cripps : Well done, Barnaby ! More, lad, more ! 

The Audience : Enough ! On with the play ! 
The play! The play! 

(Condell enters.) 

Condell : Masters, for the players I entreat si- 
lence. We are in a sorry plight with this new play 
of ours. 

Kyd : Marry ! So are we. Now I have a play 
here — . {Displays his manuscript.) 

Condell : In the next scene we were to treat 
your worships to a most pleasant and gruesome 
spectre, the ghost of Hamlet's father. But we have 
no ghost. 

IOI 



TOU &fjakspeare, a Cometig 

The Audience : The ghost ! Bring forth the 
ghost ! 

Bullock: Ay, let me try it. In 'The Merry 
Devil of Edmonton,' I once played the Devil. Let 
me he Ghost. Trust me, I '11 groan so that milk 
will turn sour. 

Ktd : Nay, that 's too loud, my man ! 

Barnaby: Sayst thou so? Then let me be 
Ghost and I '11 groan as softly as a kitten mews. 

Sir Archibald : Sit down, thou oaf ! {Threat- 
ens Barnaby.) Else thou wilt play a ghost in 
earnest ! 

Condell : We stay the coming of Master Bur- 
bage, our ghost. Shall we on with the play, and 
leave out our spectre? 

The Audience : Ay, go on ! Nay, the spectre ! 
the spectre! 

Condell : Come, then *, we '11 do our best. (Exit 
Condell. A servant enters, removes the former 
sign, and liangs another, ' We are at Elsinore Castle, 
ye Outside.'' The servant then blows out two lamps 
and the stage becomes darker.) 

Kyd : Night has come of a sudden, methinks. 

(Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus.) 

102 



Will %$uH$zm f a Conutig 

Hamlet: The Ayre bites shrewd; it is an eager and 
A nipping winde. What houre is 't ? 

Horatio : I think it lacks of twelve — (Sound trumpets.) 

Marcelltjs: No, 'tis strucke. 

Horatio: Indeed I heard it not; what does this meane 
my lord ? 

Hamlet: the King doth wake to-night, and takes his 
rowse, 
Keepe wassel, and the swaggering vp-spring 

reeles, 
And as he drains his draught of Renish downe 
The kettle, drumme, and trumpet thus bray 

out 
The triumphs of his pledge. 

Horatio: Is it a custome here ? 

Hamlet : Ay marry is % and though I am 

Native here and to the maner borne, 

It is a eustome more honour'd in the breach 

Than in the observance. 

Horatio: Look, my lord, it comes. 

( There is a pause. Will and the others look 
off left, as if seeing the Ghost.) 

Kyd (mockingly, after a pause) : T faith, that 
sounds well, but where comes it? 

Will : Will Dick Burbage never come ? Oh, 
Dick, Dick, thou wilt be our ruin ! 

( Burbage is heard off at left.) 

10} 



Burbage (without) : Is't time for me? 

Coxdell: Ha! there he is! 

Will: Thanks to the Muses and my Lord 
Southampton. Time for thee? Ay, spectre, thy 
midnight hour has tolled thrice. 

Burbage (calling from without): Then give 
me my speech again. 

Ktd : This is a merry and diverting tragedy, on 
my life. 

Will (speaking off to Burbage ) : Listen, then, 
and be ready. 

Horatio: Look, my lord, it comes. 

(Burbage enters in a costume made partly of 
his own clothes and partly of those of the ghost. 
He wears on his wrists chains, which clank noisily. ) 

Burbage : Marry, if 'tis meet a spectre should 
wear chains, I'm proper for it; I wear the chains, 
that gyved me in the gaol. My Lord Southampton 
dragged me hither in such haste there was no time 
to loose them. 

(The audience on the stage laugh derisively at 
Burbage, who takes the matter good-humor edly.) 

Will; I might have known, Dick, that thou 
1 04 



TOU Sfjakgpeare, a toutfji 

wouldst not willingly give up the ghost. So, arm 
thyself cap-a-pie in spectral steel, whilst I in speaking 
my part will contrive to imagine thy shady presence. 

B (tub age: I'll appear and haunt thee straight. 

Will: Now I'll see him truly 'in my mind's 
eye, Horatio.' (He resumes the character of Ham- 
let, and the play continues.) 

Hamlet: Angels and Ministers of grace defend us, 

Be thou a spirite of health, or goblin 

damn'd, 
Bring with thee ayres from heauen, or 

blasts from hell, 
Thou comest in such questionable shape 
That I will speake to thee, 
He call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royall 

Dane, 
O answere mee, let mee not burst in ig- 
norance, 
But say why thy canonized bones hearsed 

in death 
Haue burst their cerements: why thy Sep- 

ulcher, 
In which wee saw thee quietly interr'd, 
Hath burst his ponderous and marble 

jawes 
To cast thee vp againe : what may this 

meane, 

105 



ill ^fjakgpeate, a (Eomeo'g 



Horatio: 



Marcellus: 



Horatio: 

Hamlet: 

Horatio: 



Hamlet: 
Horatio: 



That thou, dead corse, agaiiie in eompleate 

Steele, 
Reuissets thus the glimpses of the Moone, 
Making night hideous, and we fooles of 

nature, 
So horridely to shake our disposition, 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our 

soules ? 
Say, speake, wherefore, what should we 

doe? 
It beckons you, as though it had some- 
thing 
To impart to you alone. 
Looke with what courteous action 
It waues you to a more remoued ground, 
But do not go with it. 
No, by no meanes my lord. 
It will not speake, then will I follow it. 
What if it tempt you toward the floud 

my lord 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliffe 
That beetles ore his base into the sea, 
And there assume some other horrible 

shape, 
Which might deprive your soueraigntie 

of reason, 
And drive you into madnesse : thinke 

of it. 
Still am I called, go on, ile follow thee. 
My lord, you shall not goe. 

1 06 



Will Sfjafespeare, a Cwnttog 

Hamlet: Why, what should be the feare ? 

I do not set my life at a pinnes fee, 
And for my soule, what can it do to that 
Being a thing immortall, like itself e? 
Go on, ile follow thee. 

Marcellus: My lord be rulde, you shall not goe. 

Hamlet: My fate cries out, and makes each pety 

Artire 
As hardy as the Nemeon Lyon's nerue, 
Still am I cald, vnhand me gentlemen; 
By Heauen, ile make a ghost of him that 

lets me; 
Away I say, go on, ile follow thee. 

{Exeunt Hamlet ; Horatio and Marcellus 
following. After a pause, Burbage as the Ghost 
enters, followed by Hamlet.) 



Hamlet: Ile go no farther ; whither wilt thou 

leade me ? 
Ghost: Marke me. 

Hamlet: I will. 
Ghost : I am thy father's spirit, doomd for a time 

To walke the night, and all the day 

Confinde in flaming fire, 

Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of 
Nature 

Are purged and burnt away. 
Hamlet: Alas, poore ghost! 

IOJ 



ill &fjakspeate, a Cametifj 



Ghost: 

Hamlet: 
Ghost: 

Hamlet : 
Ghost: 



Hamlet: 



Ghost: 



Hamlet: 
Ghost: 



Hamlet, if euer thou didst thy deere 

father loue — 
Oh Heauen! 
Reuenge his foule and most vnnaturall 

murder. 
Murder ? 

Murder most foule, as in the best it is, 
But this most foule, strange and vnnat- 

ural. 
Haste me to knowe it that I with wings 

as swift 
As meditation on the thoughts of loue 
May sweepe to my reuenge. 
Know then, thou noble youth, he that did 

sting 
Thy father's heart now weares his Crowne. 
O my prophetike soule, my vncle! 
But soft, me thinkes I sent the Mornings 

Ayre; 
Briefe let me be ; Sleeping within mine 

Orchard, 
My custome alwayes in the afternoone; 
Vpon my secure houre thy Vncle stole 
With iuyce of cursed Hebenon in a Violl, 
And in the Porches of mine eares did 

poure 
The leaperous Distilment. * * * 
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
Of Crowne, of Queene, of life, of dignitie 
At once depriued; no reckoning made of, 

1 08 



ill i&jjakspeate, a Cornet^ 



But sent vnto my graue. 

With all my accompts and sinnes vpon 
my head. 
Hamlet: Oh, horrible, most horrible! 

Ghost: If thou hast nature in thee, beare it not. 

jfc jfc 3|£ j|p jfc {to 

I must be gone; the Glo-worme shewes 

the Matine 
To be neere and 'gins to pale his vneffec- 

uall fire: 
Hamlet, adue, adue, adue : remember me. 
(Exit.) 
Hamlet: Hold, hold, my heart, 

And you, my sinnewes, grow not instant 

Old; 
But beare me stiffely vp : Remember 

thee? 
I, thou poore Ghost, while memory holds 

a seate 
In this distracted Globe : Remember 

thee? 
Yea, from the Table of my Memory 
He wipe away all triuall fond Records, 
And thy commandment all alone shall 

liue. * * * 
Yea, by heauen I have sworn it. 
Horatio (within) : My lord, my lord. 
Marcellus (within) : Lord Hamlet. 
Horatio (within) : 111, lo, lo, ho, ho. 
Hamlet: 111, lo, lo, so, ho, so, come boy, come. 

109 



WLiU Sfjafcspeare, a (Eonuog 



(Enter Horatio and Makcellus.) 

Marcellus : How is 't, my noble lord ? 

Horatio : 

Hamlet : 

Horatio : 

Hamlet : 

Horatio: 

Marcellus 

Hamlet : 



Both: 
Hamlet : 



Horatio : 



Hamlet : 



Both: 
Hamlet: 

Both: 

Horatio: 

Hamlet: 



Ghost: 



What newes, my lord ? 

wonderful, wonderful. 
Good, my lord, tell it. 
No not I, you '1 reueale it. 
Not I, my lord, by heauen. 
Nor I, my lord. 

How say you then ? Would hart of man 
Once thinke it ? But you '1 be secret. 

1 by heauen, my lord. 

There 's neuer a villaine dwelling in all 

Denmarke, 
But hee 's an arrant knaue. 
There need no Ghost come from the graue 

to tell you this. * * * 
And now, kind friends, as you are friends, 
Schollers and gentlemen, 
Grant me one poore request. 
What is 't, my lord ? 
Neuer make known what you haue seen 

to-night. 
My lord, we will not. * * * 
Propose the oath, my lord. 
Neuer to speake of this that you haue 

seene, 
Sweare by my sword. * * * 
Sweare! 

(The Ghost under the stage.) 



no 



Will Sijafeqieate, a (&omtt}£ 

Horatio: day and night, but this is wondrous strange. 

Hamlet: And therefore as a stranger giue it welcome; 

There are more things in heauen and earth, 

Horatio, 
Than are dream't of in our philosophic ; 
But come here, as before, you neuer shall. 
How strange or odde soere I beare myselfe, 
As I perchance hereafter shall thinke meet 
To put an Anticke disposition on, 
That you at such times seeing me, neuer shall 
With arms incombred thus, or this head 

shake, 
Or by pronouncing some vndoubtf ull phrase, 
As well, well, wee know, or wee could and if 

we would; 
Or there be, and if there might, or such am- 
biguous 
Giuing out of note, that you know aught of 

mee, 
This not to doe, so grace and mercie 
At your most need helpe you sweare. 
Ghost: Sweare! 
Hamlet: Rest, rest perturbed spirit; so gentlemen. 

With all my loue I doe commend mee to you, 
And what so poore a man as Hamlet may, 
To pleasure you, God willing shall not want, 
But still, your fingers on your lippes I pray, 
The time is out of ioynt, O cursed spite, 
That euer I was borne to set it right. 
Nay, come lett 's go together, (Exeunt.) 
m 



Oltll Sfjakspeare, a Comrtjg 

The Audience: Good! Good! Will Shak- 
speare ! 

Kyd : By my fay ! 't is not so poor a thing as 

it promised. 

(Will appears.) 

Will : I thank you one and all ; and what so 
poor a man as Will Shakspeare may to pleasure 
you. God willing, shall not want. 
(Enter Condell.) 

Condell: Will! Will! 

Will : Well, Jack ; what 's the pother ? 

Condell : There 's a dame without who would 
have speech with thee. 

(Greene enters.) 

Greene : Fly, Willy, fly ! 't is thy wife, Anne 
Hathaway ! 

Will: My wife! (After a thoughtful pause.) 
Say to her, that I '11 he with her straight. 

The Audience : His wife ! The player's wife ! 

Kyd: Ay, she's left her cold porridge at home 
to see her husband Willy as a Prince. 

(E -liter Anne Hathaway with two little girls, 
one thirteen years old. the other twelve. Anne is 
dressed plainly in black. The confusion in the 
audience ceases when they appear.) 

112 



Will ^fjakg|jeare, a Cometig 

Anne: Is Will Shakspeare in this throng? I 
would fain not meet him with so many on-lookers. 
(Will turns toward her.) 

Will : So it is thou, Anne? My babes ! (Em- 
braces the children.) 

Anne : Ay, Will, I have found thee at last, and 
many weary miles from Stratford have I traipsed 
to see thee. 

Will: Thou art welcome, Anne. My little 
Judith ! And thou Susannah ! Od's life ! How 
you have grown, both ! And where is my little lad 
— my Hamnet? 

Anne {after a pause ; with emotion) : Dead ! * 

Will: Dead! 

Anne: Two months agone an angel came for 
him. 

(Will is deeply affected. He looks at Anne 
for a moment, then embraces her tenderly. ) 

The Audience : Come ! On with the play ! 

Will : Ay, masters, you shall have it. (Aside. ) 
Dead ? My little boy ! (Noise of impatience in 
the audience. Will calls to the servants.) Make 
ready the scene for the second act. (Recovers him- 

* Hamnet, Shakspeare 's only son, died in 1596 at the age of twelve 
years. 

H3 



til j&fjafcgspeare, a Cometjg 

self. To the children.) Blessings on you, my 
babes; I've been from you too long. I have 
wronged thee, Anne, but I will make amends. 

Barnaby (to Davenant): Is this a part of the 
play, master? 

Kvd : Enough ! Let 's have more of Hamlet 
and his Ghost. 

Anne: And thou wilt not send us from thee? 

Will : Not I ; you shall remain with me. To- 
gether we will return to Stratford. (Aside. ) He 
was the sweetest babe that ever — ah ! and dead — 
dead! (Calls.) Make the scene ready, lads! 

(Two servants of the theatre remove the sign at 
back and replace it with one bearing the inscrip- 
tion, ' Ye House of Corambis. i ) 

Anne : Is this thy house ? 

Will (petting the children) : Nay, 'tis the 
house of him whose daughter I am to marry may- 
hap. 

Anne: What ! Thou art to marry another? 

Will: Peace, prithee. In the play. So come 
thy ways. I '11 go with thee as soon as I am slain. 

Anne (alarmed) : Thou wilt be slain? 

Will : Tush ! in the play. 

Davenant: Is she thy wife, Will Shakspeare? 
114 



Will Sfjafespeate, a (Eometjg. 

Will: Ay, truly, and the mother of my chil- 
dren. 

Davenant: Then give me back mine. 

Anne : What 's this ? 

Will : I have none of thy wives, mine host. 

Davenant : Nay, then where 's my Judith ? Is 
she not here? 

Will : If she says so. Ho ! Bertram ! 
(Enter Mrs. Davenant.) 

Davenant : Ay, there she stands ! 

Will: This honest man says thou art a fair 
lady and his wife. 

Mrs. Davenant (scolding Davenant) : Wilt 
thou never leave off prating, thou meddler? Thou 
wouldst not promise to let me play as a forfeit for 
thy misdoing; yet here I am, and till the play is 
done I am Ophelia. After it, Heaven help me, I 
must be thy wife. 

Davenant : Be a Princess then, mouse ; and I '11 
wait for thee as dutiful as a pretty page. 

Will: Take thou thy wife when the play is 
done, and (sighs) mine will take me. (To tlie 
audience. ) I cry you patience, friends, for this rude 
breaking off. Actors, as well as other men, have 
griefs, but they must please you though their hearts 

"5 



SHill ^fjafcsp rarr, a Conutig 

may bleed. Lads, are ye ready all? {To 

the children.) My sweetings! How pretty you 
have become! Come! On with the play! {To 
the audience.) Friends. I must be the Ghost anon: 
and. therefore, as Will Shakspeare. I bid yon fare- 
well. Come, my little ones ! This way, Anne ! 

(He leads the children off at the left. A>~>~e 
Hathaway f-f.W-ring. The . ~\ . 
as Will goes ojf at left. ) 



End of tU Comedy of Will Slzkspiir;. Tlaytr. 



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